Many The Miles
by thethoughtjester
Summary: AU. A car crash changes the course of 3 lives forever. Uses a few events taken from canon... and shuffled around a bit. Quinntana friendship. Eventual Brittana romance. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Teaser

**This is just a teaser... kinda want to gauge if anyone is interested in reading more ;) **

**WARNING: It's potentially a little hard going for the first few chapters; the car crash doesn't have particularly happy results. Sorry. Also... it's heavy on the Quinntana for a while but I promise Brittany will show up eventually.**

* * *

"Quinn!"

She's moving, she thinks. But, lying down? Everything is black. _What the hell…?_ She can feel the air rushing past her face as she gradually becomes aware of a throbbing inside her ears. They feel blocked. She tries to open her eyes but her lids are impossibly heavy. Sound finally starts to creep up on her; someone calling her name? And then, too many voices. She doesn't think she recognises any of them. She can barely make out what they are saying, anyway… it's all so fast. Mumbled sounds, then syllables, then words.

"…breathing…"

"…stable…"

"… bleeding… "

_Wait, who's bleeding? Am I bleeding?_

"…can't tell for sure until we go in…"

"… the other one is worse…"

_Other what? Oh God…._

She remembers. The sound of breaking glass, crunching metal.

"Quinn…"

There's her name again. It's a voice she knows, though she's never heard it sound so small. She becomes aware of a hand clasping her own. Jerking it up and down as they move together. Everything is becoming clearer; the sounds, the pain, the memory. A wave of nausea washes over her as she attempts to open her eyes again.

"Quinn? Can you hear me? You're going to be okay."

It's not very convincing. She musters all her strength and opens her eyes. Fluorescent lights flash past in a harsh blur, silhouetting the figures that hover above her. Her eyes close of their own accord and she pushes them open again. She finds the face that belongs to the voice. It's not focused on her, but instead looking back behind them with frantic eyes. The colour of the blood on her face matches her dress. _Blood! But, she wasn't in the car. Is that my blood?_

"Santana?" The name barely escapes her lips as she clenches her eyes closed at the pounding in her head. She feels the hand squeeze and pushes her lids apart, just a fraction. Santana is looking down at her now, her eyes full of horror and hope. An odd combination.

"Quinn?"

"I…" It causes her head to swim.

"Don't try to speak. You were in an accident. It's okay… you're going to be okay…"

It's all too much. She closes her eyes again.

"…take her to OR 3…"

"…do we have a blood type…"

"…Miss, you're going to have to stay here…"

Santana's had is ripped away from her.

"Quinn, they're taking you to surgery. You're going to be fine…"

_Wait!_ This can't be happening. She is brought to a stop and she struggles to open her eyes. They are waiting at an elevator; she can vaguely make out Santana, standing a short distance away with her arms wrapped around herself. The team of doctors that were rushing her through the hospital are a blur of charts and white coats. None of them are looking at her. Panic sets in. She never wanted _this_. At the risk of causing herself some serious pain, she throws every ounce of energy she has into her next words.

"You have to… you have to look after my baby…"

It's throaty and desperate and, thankfully, loud. No one misses it. The faces are suddenly on her and they all wear the same expression. In unison they turn questioningly towards Santana, whose face is more shocked than all of them combined.

"Miss, is your friend..?"

"Well, she wasn't talking about _me_."

Santana glares at the momentarily dumfounded doctors. "Seriously, what the hell are you looking at me for? Help her!"

There is a chime as the elevator doors open. It all starts again with a jerk. The movement, the voices… the pain. Then, black.

* * *

"Careful!"

Santana hisses her warning at the closing elevator doors. She lets out breath. Was she holding it this whole time? She allows herself a moment. When tears start to prick the back of her eyes she gathers back her composure and spins around. There's nothing more she can do for Quinn, now she just has to be here for-

The corridor is empty. _What? _Wasn't it just moments ago there was a second gurney, a second team of doctors, hurtling through the hospital not 3 feet behind her? She looks around frantically. Her eyes land on a nurse and she rushes over to her.

"Excuse me, do you know where they took my other friend?"

"Who, dear?"

"My friend, the car accident. There were two of them, a boy and a girl. They just took her up to surgery, he was right behind us!"

"What's his name, dear?"

"Noah… Noah Puckerman."


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNING: As mentioned in the teaser, this chapter isn't exactly "fun"...**

* * *

Santana wakes with a start. Disoriented for a moment, the beeping and whirring of Quinn's monitors remind her where she is. She presses her hands to her face and tries to rub some of the grogginess away.

"You were snoring."

She looks up in alarm. Quinn is watching her, a familiar smile playing on the corner of her lips. Santana tries to smile back.

"You scared me," she mumbles.

"You woke yourself up, S."

"I'm not talking about that."

"I know."

Quinn had been awake only long enough to take in her surroundings, do a quick survey of her condition - S_cratches, bruises and maybe a broken leg_? - and notice Santana curled up in the corner. They are silent for a moment as Santana gets up from the chair she had fallen asleep in and shuffles over to Quinn's bed. She is still wearing her dress, but the blood has been cleaned off her face. Her eyes are red and puffy.

"How are you feeling?" she asks warmly.

"Like I got hit by a truck."

Santana grimaces.

"Oh God… was it actually a truck?"

"No... a tree. Do you remember anything?"

Quinn tries to focus. Everything seems so hazy. Like, _everything_. Major memories are still clear; she obviously recognises Santana. She's already put enough pieces together to know there was some kind of accident, but the details are missing. The realisation that she is so unsure of how she got here, or even what day it is, sends her into a momentary panic. _How long have I been here?_ _Oh God, was I in a coma? _She shakes off the thought almost immediately; if any real time had passed Santana would not still be in her prom dress. _Prom! __We were on our way to pick Santana up for Prom._

"I was in the car with Puck. We were fighting about-"

When the memory hits her it is overwhelming. She lets out a gasp as she instinctively clutches her stomach and looks to Santana with desperate eyes.

"Santana… my… I was…"

"You still are. She's okay. You both are."

Santana squeezes her hand as Quinn's heart floods with relief. Then, something else registers.

"It's a girl?"

Santana smiles softly. "It's a girl."

Quinn can't help but smile back. In fact, she thinks she may be beaming. It comes as a surprise, her happiness, considering the implications of teenage pregnancy. Especially in Lima. Especially in her family.

"Quinn… there's something else…"

"My parents," She acknowledges with a nod. "They're here?"

"Your mom is. She must have gone for coffee or something."

"Does she..."

"Yes, she knows."

Quinn's heart sinks.

"Is she… does she seem mad? Oh my God, they're going to kill me. They're going to kill Puck. Puck! Oh God, Puck. Where is he? Is he okay?"

Quinn sits up abruptly, turning her head frantically as though she may be able to see through the walls.

"Q, you should calm down. Your heart thingy is beeping."

Santana can't meet her eyes. Realisation dawns.

"Santana. Where is Puck?"

She holds her breath as Santana finally looks at her and shakes her head. She's seen Santana cry a hundred times but the pain the in her friend's tear-filled eyes now is completely different.

"Please, no…"

She chokes on her own voice, though it was barely a whisper. She clenches her fingers into the bed sheets and lets out a sob. Santana reaches out and pulls Quinn to her, pressing her cheek against the top of her head. Quinn wraps her arms around Santana's waist and cries freely into her stomach.

"Ssh. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I'm so sorry."

* * *

"Santana, you should go home."

Quinn isn't sure how long she has been sitting like this, her face buried in the blood red fabric of Santana's dress. Although the tears had kept coming, she was finding comfort in sharing this grief with her friend. They had shared the boy it was over, after all. Somehow, as Santana stroked her hair and hummed a vaguely familiar tune, she felt like everything was going to be okay. Her mother's shrill voice is a harsh reminder that everything is not okay.

"It's alright, Mrs. Fabray… I want to stay."

"You've been in that dress all night. Go home and take a shower."

"I…"

"This is a family matter now, Santana."

There is something odd and unsettling about that last statement. Her feet seem to involuntarily plant themselves more firmly on the ground as she is overwhelmed by a desire to stay. A need to stay. But, she learnt a long time ago that arguing with Mrs. Fabray is useless. And she doesn't really want to be here when Quinn's father arrives. Mrs. Fabray is unnerving, but _Mr. _Fabray is actually scary. She takes a step away from Quinn.

"Mom…"

"No, it's okay, Q. You need to get some rest anyway. And I probably look like hell."

"You _look_ beautiful." She pauses and smiles at her friend before adding, "You _smell_ like hell."

Santana pokes out her tongue and gives Quinn a little nudge. Her smile wavers.

"I'll be back before you know it."

"Promise?"

Santana leans over to place a kiss gently on Quinn's forehead. "Promise."

Despite the promise of her imminent return, Quinn wraps her arms back around Santana's waist. Something deep inside is scared to let her go.

"Thank you, Santana. I'm sure your parents are eager to have you home."

Once again, the girls part at the sound of the shrill yet commanding voice of Quinn's mother. And, once again, her words are strangely unsettling. Quinn looks up at Santana, a subtle fear in her eyes. Santana gives her hand a squeeze and winks at her as she turns to leave. For the first time she gets a good look at Mrs. Fabray. Like Santana, it's clear that she hasn't had much sleep. She has also been crying. It's completely understandable, given the situation, so it's not the tired, puffy eyes that take Santana by surprise. No, what stops Santana in her tracks is the fact that Mrs. Fabray is quite visibly shaking. She's nervous. More than that, she looks scared. Before Santana can even wonder why, Mrs. Fabray has stepped aside to let her pass. It is not an idle gesture. It very clearly tells Santana, _leave now._ She obliges, albeit hesitantly, and continues out the door.

* * *

Making her way down the hall in a daze, trying to figure out what has her feeling so uneasy, she looks up just in time to see Quinn's father striding towards her. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it almost immediately, silenced by the intensity of Mr. Fabray's glare. He's not looking at her. In fact, he walks straight past her. He moves with a determination that chills Santana to the core. It adds to her ever-growing uneasiness.

She tries to shake it off and continues to make her way out of the hospital, her mind racing through the events of the last 24 hours. This time yesterday feels like it was a million years ago.

"_Stand up straight, mija."_

_Santana had been standing up straight for the better half of an hour. Her shoulders were slumped in a deliberate act of rebellion._

"_That's enough photos, Mamá, they'll be here soon."_

"_So, we take a few more before they get here. Seeing as though it's photos of only you we may as well get a lot of different angles."_

"_We've got ALL the angles!"_

_Santana was not exaggerating. They had spent 30 minutes moving from room to room, pose after pose, and now they were in the front yard for the whole world to see. "This is embarrassing."_

"_Who is watching you, Santana? You have no date! Why you no take that Finn boy? Or the other one with the pescado lips? Por favor, mija… smile!"_

"_I've got no smiles left for you if you're going to keep going on like this. And I have a date… I have two!"_

"_No, you do not have a date. What you have is two poor friends who now have a third wheel."_

"_Trust me, they need a third wheel to act as a buffer. I'll bet they're fighting right now; it's probably why they're late."_

_As if on cue, Santana's phone beeped from somewhere on the porch, no doubt a text from Quinn updating her of their whereabouts. Santana's mother cursed as her daughter turned to retrieve her phone in the middle of a shot._

"_Fine, we take a quick break while I find some new batteries."_

_Santana waved her arm in dismissal as her mother headed inside and turned her attention to checking her phone. Just as predicted, a text from Quinn:  
_

_SORRY S, ALWAYS MISCALCULATE HOW LONG IT TAKES TO GET TO THE WRONG SIDE OF THE TRACKS ;-) 2 SECONDS AWAY X  
_

_Santana was sure Quinn wasn't expecting her to be waiting outside, so she wasn't surprised when no car appeared 2 seconds later. It wasn't much longer before it did, though. And the sound came first. _

_Santana had leant down to try to loosen the straps on her heels; her feet were already hurting and she hadn't even left for Prom, yet. But the pain vanished as she lifted her head at the sound of screeching tyres. It was almost as if it happened in slow motion. It gave Santana enough time to wonder why Puck was approaching the intersection at the end of her block so fast, why he was taking the turn at such a wide angle and exactly how many times could a speeding car spin 360 degrees before hitting the curb and plummeting into a tree. It was the deafening sound of that impact that snapped Santana's thoughts from slow motion to warp speed. In a split second she registered that she needed to run, it took a second more before she registered why. It was at this point she started screaming. _


	3. Chapter 3

Santana shakes herself out of the memory, desperately clinging to the present. She doesn't want to relive those moments that followed the crash right now; she already knows deep down that she will be fighting this fight for a long time to come. A fight that, more often than not, she will probably lose. She opens her eyes and finds herself standing outside the hospital, in the middle of the ambulance bay. Was she walking with her eyes closed this whole time? Her breathing is laboured and she feels unsteady on her feet. As she buries the last few images of blood and broken glass, she inadvertently pushes something else back to the forefront of her mind. That feeling of uneasiness.

An ambulance approaches from the street, sirens wailing. The sound is jarring but somehow familiar, as though the alarm that something triggered in her mind back in Quinn's room has transformed into this loud and urgent warning. She clutches at the heaviness that has lodged itself in her heart, as she tries to sort out her thoughts. The red lights flash in her eyes as the ambulance hurtles into the bay towards her and she stumbles backwards. Her heel catches on the curb behind her and she falls to the ground.

"Ouch. Motherfu-"

Santana's tirade dies there as her eyes find two figures getting into a car across the street and everything falls into place. It feels like someone has punched her in the gut. In one swift movement she is off the ground and running back into the hospital.

* * *

Santana slows her pace as she approaches the room and brings herself to a complete stop, just outside the door, before steadying her breath and entering cautiously. It's unnecessary; she knows she will find the room empty but for Quinn. And, although she is expecting it, the sight of her friend's tear streaked face threatens to break her heart completely.

"They left," Quinn whispers to Santana.

"Yeah."

"They're not… coming back. They just left me here. Like this."

"I know."

Seeing Quinn's parents outside had been the final piece of the puzzle for Santana. The things Quinn's mother had said, her fear, the look in Mr. Fabray's eyes as he stormed through the hall; it all made sense now. The news of the accident had brought with it the news of something else. Something _worse_. Their daughter – their perfect, Christian daughter – was pregnant. And that would just not do. Not for the Fabrays. Judy already knew what was coming when she was telling Santana to leave this room. And Santana knew, too. When she saw the look in Mr. Fabray's eyes, she knew. On some level. She doesn't want to think about what he must have said to Quinn when he finally arrived in her room; the abuse he must have let fly as his little girl lay helpless and scared in her hospital bed. Santana reaches Quinn and wraps her arms around her. She recalls how earlier her feet had involuntarily rooted themselves this very spot, willing her not to let go of Quinn. She wishes more than anything that she hadn't.

"Well,_ I_ came back. And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again, you understand?"

Quinn nods and sobs into Santana. "What am I going to do?"

A doctor enters the room and lifts the chart from the end of her bed. "You are one lucky girl, Quinn. Once we got you into the OR we discovered you injuries weren't nearly as serious as first thought. Obviously, your leg is banged up pretty bad but there's no internal bleeding. I don't see why you can't go home as early as tomorrow morning."

At this, Quinn bursts into tears.

The doctor is taken aback, "I'm sorry… I… this is good news, Quinn."

Santana goes to move towards the doctor but Quinn's arms tighten around her.

"It's okay, Q. I'm not going anywhere. Sssh…" Santana runs her fingers slowly through Quinn's hair a few times before gently lowering her hands and unclasping Quinn's arms from around her waist. Quinn puts her hands to her eyes and buries her face in her pillow as Santana approaches the doctor.

"Listen, are there papers or anything her parents need to sign for her to be discharged?" she whispers.

"No, Quinn is 18, she can sign them herself. But, I'll be here in the morning if they have any more questions before they take her home."

"Is there anything important to know? Like, to take care of her and stuff?"

"I've already gone through that with Mr. and Mrs. Fabray."

"And now you're gonna go through it with me."

* * *

"_Damnit, Puck! Why do you keep doing this?"_

"_Doing what?"_

"_Don't play dumb with me, Noah. You bring this up every time we're in a situation where I can't get away."_

"_Because we need to talk about it."_

"_No, we don't."_

"_I should get a say." _

"_You've done enough."_

"_That's my baby, Quinn. _Our_ baby"_

"_No. It's going to be someone else's baby."_

"_It doesn't have to be. We could be a family."_

"_Stop it."_

"_I even thought of a name."_

"_Puck, please..."_

"_Quinn."_

"_Yes, what?"_

"_No, that's the name. Quinn. I was trying to think of something awesome for a dude or something, you know, _beautiful _for a chick… and Quinn works for both. I mean, _you're_ both, right? We made the thing, why not name it after one of us?"_

"_Puck… " _

_She wanted to tell him that was probably the best thing anyone had ever said to her. She wanted to tell him she thought he would make a good father, and maybe even a good husband… one day. She wanted to tell him that he made her feel special and beautiful. Mostly, she wanted to tell him that maybe they could talk about this. Instead, she screamed his name as a dog ran out in front of his car._

"PUCK!"

Quinn's scream fills an empty room as she wakes in a cold sweat. Her eyes desperately scan the room.

"Santana?"

As she realises she is completely alone her hands begin to tremble and her heart fills with a fear like she has never known. "Santana!"

Santana comes rushing into the room. "Quinn? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

As soon as she is within reach, Quinn has wrapped her arms around Santana's waist like a vice. Santana momentarily wonders to herself why she has bothered leaving this spot at all in the last 24 hours.

"Where were you?"

"You fell asleep while I was talking to the doctor. I just stepped away for a minute to make a phone call, I thought you'd be out for a while. I'm sorry, honey, I'm here now."

"What were you talking to the doctor about?"

"I got him to tell me everything he told your parents about looking after you when you get home."

Quinn's tears threaten to flow, again. "What home?"

"My home. It's yours now, too. Okay?"

Quinn stares at her blankly. "Santana… what…"

"I just spoke to my mom. She's already setting up a bed for you. No arguments, it's a done deal."

"I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"Of course. We're like besties for life, remember?"

* * *

**Okay, sorry this has taken so long. Life kinda got in the way. I'm going to do my best to update more regularly from now on... fingers crossed all the otherness settles down a bit. Hopefully the chapters will get a little longer, too. There's a bit more set up to go before we get into the heart of the story but I wanted to post _something_ to keep y'all interested. Y'all are still interested... right? ;) Let me know what you're thinking x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry about the double update - this is Chapter 4 with a correction. Apparently it's a little confusing when Santana calls Quinn "S"... oops!**

* * *

"Where's Quinn?"

Santana is startled by the sudden sound of her mother's voice. She had closed her eyes a few minutes ago to soak in the peacefulness of the afternoon sun and ended up falling into a half sleep / half day-dreaming state in which her mind filled with intoxicating and vaguely familiar images. A cheeky smile, deep blue eyes and rain. Lots of rain. She had been humming to herself, nestled somewhere between fantasy and memory, when her mom entered the room.

"She went for a walk. Couldn't wait to get out of here now that she's got her legs back."

Maribel Lopez looks at her daughter curiously, "You didn't go with her?"

"After 3 weeks she's probably more sick of my company than she was of that chair."

"Or perhaps yours is just not the right kind of company."

Santana is sure that her mother had meant that to come out as a light, off-the-cuff comment but instead it's harsh and laced with judgment. Santana's brow furrows as she finally opens her eyes and looks up. Seeing the look on her mother's face she immediately re-evaluates her assumption of the woman's intention.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The question is ignored as her mother goes about hanging out the washing.

"Ma!"

Mrs. Lopez sighs. "People talk, mija."

"Oh? And what do _people_ say?"

"Don't give me attitude, Santana. You know very well what they say. Not that they need to _say_ anything. Her… _situation_ is starting to become obvious."

"And…?"

"And… well, she clearly enjoys the male company, no? That's all I'm saying."

Santana stands and crosses her arms over her chest.

"I have a feeling there's plenty more you want to say," she challenges.

"I just don't like you spending so much time with a girl like her. Maybe now she's walking properly she can find a place of her own, hmm?"

"Are you kidding?"

Santana is now close to seething. Her mother senses the oncoming tirade and decides to change the subject.

"Come help me with the laundry."

"You really think I'm going to let that go? You just called my best friend a slut."

"Don't be so crude, Santana."

"Don't be so judgmental!"

"I know Quinn is your friend, Santana, and it's a very nice thing you have done, looking after her like this. But, she is a bad influence. You are a good girl… not going around with so many boys, like her."

"Well, maybe I just don't like boys," Santana hisses.

Her mother giggles. Santana glares at her, which is nothing new, and only makes her laugh even more.

"I know, I know… _boys suck_!" she jokingly mimics her daughter's dramatic tone.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know, mija. It's okay, you will find another boyfriend soon. Maybe one that doesn't date half the other girls in school, this time. But, no sex!"

Mrs. Lopez is being playful with her daughter and Santana grunts in frustration. She hadn't planned on having this conversation with her mother. One day, sure… but certainly not yet. However, the words just keep coming.

"I won't be having sex with any boys."

"Not until you are married. Good girl."

"No, Mama… not ever. Not with boys."

Mrs. Lopez finally takes her attention off the clothes and turns her head slightly to eye her daughter, before letting out another small laugh.

"Why always so dramatic, Santana? As long as you don't let yourself get in trouble, like your friend, you don't have to be a saint _forever_."

Her mother pats her on the shoulder and turns to leave.

"Do you really not understand what I am trying to say, Mama, or are you deliberately being dismissive?"

Her mother keeps walking as Santana continues to talk to her back.

"I won't be having sex with _boys. Specifically_. Because I don't _like_ boys." She takes a few deep breaths, knowing she is about to pass the point of no return. Her mother stops walking. One more breath.

"I like gi-"

"That's enough, Santana!"

"But…" she pauses momentarily, to find the right words, as her mother turns slowly to face her.

"But, nothing… entiendes? It's not funny. You made your point."

"What?"

"You are just upset about what I said about Quinn."

"No, that's not… well, yeah, I am. I mean, you're judging her for _one_ mistake and making all these assumptions because of it. Aren't you always telling me that God loves us in spite of our mistakes?"

Her mother stays silent, so she continues.

"But, we're not talking about Quinn anymore. I'm trying to tell you about me."

"And I'm trying to tell you that you need to think very carefully about what you say. Sex before marriage may be a sin, Santana, but, yes, the Lord would forgive you. This other thing that you are joking about, though… it's _unnatural_."

"And… unforgivable?"

"Yes."

"And if I'm not joking?"

"Santana, please."

"No, Mama… I want to know!"

The defiance is wiped off Santana's face in an instant as her mother shoots her an icy glare that she knows all too well. Her mother's response, however, is a shock to the system.

"Es una vergüenza y repugnante! No se hablamás de esto! We're done!"

Santana is suddenly unsteady on her feet. Her mind races as she reels from the impact of her mother's words. Then, just as suddenly, her expression changes to mirror her mother's.

"Fine by me."

* * *

The sunlight filters through the leaves, casting magical patterns on the ground, as Quinn strolls along the tree-lined street. She basks in the warmth on her face and for the first time in weeks she feels at peace. The only sounds she can hear are soft and calming; birds chirping, distant laughter and the occasional car. She pushes all her worries aside and focuses on the near silence. It's a nice change from the Lopez household. Not that she isn't terribly grateful for the roof over her head, but it's not exactly the quietest place on earth. Santana and her mother have a habit of yelling at each other, even when they're not yelling at each other. And ever since Quinn started showing, Mrs. Lopez has taken to making frequent, and not so subtle, sounds of disapproval. So, enjoying the respite, Quinn stops and stretches her arms up into the air. She closes her eyes and takes in the deepest breath she can, letting it out with a contended sigh.

"Get in!"

Quinn's reverie is broken as Santana's car screeches to a halt beside her.

"Santana? What are you doing? The whole point of me walking to the mall is, you know, the walking. Sort of defeats the purpose if you drive me."

"We're not going to the mall. Get in."

Something in the tone of Santana's voice convinces Quinn not to argue and she hobbles slowly over the to the passenger side door.

"Some time today, Crip."

"Gimme a minute, jeez."

The moment Quinn settles into the seat beside her and fastens her seatbelt, Santana slams her foot on the gas and both girls lurch forward as the car carries them forcefully down the road. Quinn grips the door handle, letting out a panicked cry.

"Santana, what the hell? Can you slow down please?"

Santana huffs loudly but complies. They drive in silence for a few minutes as Quinn calms down. She's not all that comfortable in cars as it is these days, let alone a speeding one with Santana behind the wheel.

"So, if not the mall, where are we suddenly in such a hurry to get to?"

Santana doesn't respond, her eyes focused intensely ahead.

"Santana?"

The Latina snaps her head towards Quinn but her expression softens as she meets her best friend's worried eyes.

"Is there anything back at my place that you can't live without?" she blurts out.

"Huh?"

"I don't mean clothes or anything. I mean personal shit. Have you got any sentimental crap at my house?"

"Um, no I don't think so."

"Good."

"Santana, I'm really confused. Where are we going?"

"For a drive."

"To…?"

"Look, I just need you to stop asking me questions for a minute, okay? Like, don't even talk at all. Just… I just need to clear my head. Can you just be quiet for a while?"

It falls somewhere in the large expanse between a plea and an order. And Quinn has heard enough of the latter from Santana over years that the difference now worries her into submission. She searches her friend's face for answers but comes up with nothing. Settling back into her seat, her eyes remain on Santana as they continue on in the silence.

* * *

"Santana?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you going to tell me what's going on? We've been driving for over an hour."

They had indeed been driving for a long time, the whole while Quinn trying to gauge Santana's mood. The intensity of her focus on the road had seemingly lessened in the last 10 minutes, so Quinn had chanced the question.

"Well, you better get comfortable, sweetheart… we've got a long ways to go yet."

Quinn feels all the built up tension, from the last hour of silence, leave the car as Santana flashes her a mischievous smile.

"We do? So, you're going to tell me where we're going?"

"How do you feel about oranges?"

"Oranges?"

"Oranges and earthquakes."

Santana chuckles to herself. Quinn's mind slowly shifts from confusion to realization.

"What are you… wait. Santana, are we… going to California?"

"Why not?"

"Um, because we live in Ohio!"

"Not anymore. What's the problem, Q… I thought you liked the warm weather?"

"It's almost Summer, S… it's warm enough at home."

"Yeah, well… we don't have a home anymore." And with that, Santana's good mood vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

"What are you talking about?"

Santana reverts to sulking in silence but Quinn refuses to spend another hour without knowing what the hell is going on.

"Santana!"

Nothing. Quinn knows reasoning with Santana when she gets like this is useless, so she changes tack.

"Does your mom know where you are? That you're planning to drive all the way to the other side of the country? She's probably worried sick about you."

Santana laughs bitterly at Quinn's attempt to guilt trip her.

"I wouldn't worry too much about her feelings, Q. She certainly doesn't care about yours."

It comes out a lot harsher than Santana intended. She turns to face Quinn, an apology in her eyes. Realization dawns on Quinn.

"Oh, S. Did you have a fight with your mom about me? Jesus, why didn't you just say something? You always have to be so dramatic. Turn the car around, I'll just figure out somewhere else to stay."

"Like where?"

Quinn hates that she has to think for so long to come up with an answer. And she feels physically ill when she realizes she doesn't have one at all. As if to hammer home her point, Santana steps on the gas.

"That's _my_ problem, Santana. Your mom has been very kind to let me stay with you as long as she has. I will work something out. But, you need to go home. I am not going to be responsible for—"

"It wasn't just about you, Quinn. She kicked me out, too."

"She what!" Quinn's jaws drops. "Because of me?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"It doesn't matter."

Santana's voice is so small that it actually makes Quinn angry. "The hell it doesn't!"

Santana swipes abruptly at her eyes and clears her throat. It's too late.

"Santana, please. Tell me what's going on. You're crying. I can guess what your mom had to say about me, but I can't for the life of me understand why she would kick _you_out…"

"Well, technically she didn't. But, it was made very clear that I would no longer be welcome in her house if…"

She trails off, leaving Quinn to exhale loudly in exasperation. Communication; not Santana's forte.

"If what, Santana?"

The Latina takes in a slow, deep breath. Once again, she finds herself almost involuntarily pushing the conversation in a direction she hadn't planned and she hesitates; it didn't go so well the first time.

"If I was… um… if I was gay."

The last word is barely a whisper but Quinn catches it and snorts out a laugh in disbelief.

"That's ridiculous. Why is that even an issue?"

"Because she thinks it's shameful and disgusting."

"No, I mean, why is it even relevant? You're not gay."

Santana just looks at her.

"Santana, please, you're not gay," Quinn scoffs. She's actually a little annoyed with her friend for not taking this conversation seriously. Santana has never been one for the "deep and meaningfuls" but they have always been close. When things mattered, they were honest with each other. For the most part. Santana shifts her focus from the road back to Quinn, raising her eyebrow in a challenge. Quinn sighs, "You're not."

"You know, saying that over and over ain't going to make it true. Trust me, I've tried... it doesn't work."

The bitterness in Santana's voice is laced with genuine sadness, causing Quinn to waver.

"Santana, are you… are you serious?" Quinn's voice trembles, knocking Santana back into defensive mode.

"Whatever, it's not a big deal."

"Um... yes, it is! God, Santana. I don't… I don't believe it."

Quinn shakes her head in disbelief, her brow creasing as she looks at her friend. Santana registers the pity in Quinn's eyes and slowly pulls the car over to the side of the road.

"What are you doing?"

"Look, I'm not turning around. I told myself once you got in the car that I wouldn't turn back for anything. But, I'm also not going to force you to come with me. So, you can get out here. Just call a cab or whatever." Santana spits out the last sentence and looks down at her hands.

"A cab? Santana, we're 80 miles from Lima!"

"Well, maybe you can call my mother to come pick you up. You two will probably get along great now that you can bond over how disgusting you both think I am."

"Is that what you think? That I think you're disgusting?"

"I can see it in your eyes, Quinn. You're horrified."

"Santana, no. I'm in shock! Surely you can understand that this is fairly surprising information? I mean, Jesus, Santana… you've slept with half the guys at school!""

"You're yelling at me."

"Well, I'm angry!"

"At me. For being disgusting." Santana's voice has never been so small.

"Ugh, no! Damnit, Santana, I'm angry because you didn't tell me!"

"Well, you haven't exactly been forthcoming with the big announcements yourself, Quinn." Santana shoots back, inclining her head towards Quinn's belly. She means it as a counter attack but she can't muster up anywhere near as much anger as Quinn. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice, full of pain, completely gives her away.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't really think about how _not_ telling you might upset you. I just thought you'd be angry at me. For being so stupid."

"Me too."

"Huh?"

"I thought you'd be angry at me, too. For being so… gay."

Quinn laughs.

"For being SO gay?" She gives Santana a playful nudge. "And just how gay are you?"

Santana hesitates for only the briefest of moments. "Really fucking gay."

Quinn can't help but really laugh this time. Santana giggles and looks to Quinn for reassurance, who reaches up and wipes a couple of stray tears from her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"It's okay, Q. I understand why you didn't tell me."

It had been playing on Santana's mind in the weeks since the accident, so she feels a sense of relief now that they are finally talking about it. Her heart remains heavy with other things, though.

"I meant I'm sorry about your mom. And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't tell me something like this. I love you, Santana… any which way."

"I know."

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Quinn holding Santana's hands in her own. Feeling as though the threat of more tears has finally passed, Santana takes in a deep breath and flashes Quinn her best brave face. Quinn smiles back and lets go of her hands. She straightens up in her seat and turns completely towards Santana.

"So, who else have you told?"

"I've never told anyone. Never even said it out loud. Until today. The only people who know are me, my mom and now you."

"Wow. I'm really proud of y—"

"Actually, no that's not true!" Santana cuts her off. A smile dances around the corners of her lips as Quinn stares at her expectantly. "There's one other person who knows."

"Who?"

"A girl."

Quinn smiles, raising a questioning eyebrow, but Santana's voice becomes sad and distant.

"I don't even know her name."

"Great. You told some stranger but not me?"

"Technically, I didn't _tell_ her. I kinda _showed_ her… if you know what I mean."

"Ew, Santana… that's gross."

"See! You _do_ think I'm disgusting!"

"Not gross because she's a girl, loser… you didn't even know her name!"

"It wasn't like that."

"What was it like, then?"

Santana feels a huge pang and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "I don't want to talk about it."

Under normal circumstances, Quinn would probably tease her friend and force her into spilling all the details. But, these aren't normal circumstances. Not because Santana is talking about a girl (although, that _will_ take some getting used to) but because Santana is talking about something she is clearly still very sensitive about. Something she has struggled with for who knows how long... and will probably continue to struggle with for a while. And right now Quinn is only sure of one thing; that Santana is her best friend, her family, and she will be right by her side every step of the way.

"So… oranges, hey?" She flashes a smile at Santana, "I like oranges."

"Really?" Santana asks, her voice an excited combination of shock and hope.

"Really. Let's get this freak show on the road!"

Santana lets out a hearty laugh, allowing the heaviness, for now, to melt away. She turns the key in the ignition, steps on the gas and pulls back out onto the freeway.

* * *

**A/N: Having just watched the season 3 finale, I'm sorry about Santana's mom. If only all mother's were as accepting as canon Maribel Lopez. But, this is my AU...  
When she reacts to Santana in Spanish, it is something along the lines of this: "It is shameful and disgusting. No more talk of this."**

**Again, I want to apologise for Brittany still having yet to appear (considering this is tagged as a Brittana fic). The last few episodes of season 3 have given me lots of Quinntana feelings and I really wanted to make sure their friendship was properly addressed before they got to California.**

**Anyone excited to see what happens when they get there?**


	5. Chapter 5

NOAH!"

Quinn holds herself back from cursing as she lifts her foot to reveal a slightly misshapen plastic dinosaur. She bends down to pick it up, rubbing at where it has left a small red mark on her sole. A few feet away from her she sees two more on the ground and exhales in exasperation.

"Noah! You have exactly 3 seconds to get out here! One… two…"

Her countdown is interrupted by a mischievous chuckle. She looks up to see Santana sauntering into the room, carrying a bowl in one hand and fastening the last button on her shirt with the other.

"Have you seen Noah?"

Santana takes a mouthful of cereal and smiles, nodding her head towards the large chest in the middle of the room. Quinn rolls her eyes as Santana laughs again.

"You don't help, you know," she snarks. Shaking her head, she continues to pick up random creatures from the floor as she makes her way over to the chest. "I'm really sick of standing on these things. They're everywhere! It wouldn't be so bad if it were the soft ones," she says, pointing to a shelf full of plush teddy bears and unicorns. It's clear from their pristine condition that they don't get taken down very often, if ever.

"Well, that's what you get for giving your daughter a boy's name," Santana jokes.

"Shut up," is all Quinn can come up with in response as she lifts a dinosaur above her head and aims it at Santana.

Santana's eyes widen with mock fear as she lets out a dramatic "Ooooooohhh" and shimmies towards Quinn. A tiny giggle escapes from the chest and the two women melt.

"You're such a pushover," Santana whispers to Quinn.

"Me? The reason she's so used to getting whatever she wants is because of you!"

"I can't help it, have you seen how cute that kid is?"

Quinn smiles proudly and adopts a loud, exaggerated tone, "Soooo, Auntie Tana… will you help me find Noah?"

She beams back at Quinn and plays along, "But, I have _noooooo idea_ where she could possibly be!"

More giggles erupt from the large chest. Quinn and Santana chuckle silently to each other, throwing their voices across the room.

"Well, she's not in here… I guess she must be in her bedroom!"

"She must be! I suppose we should look for her in there!"

The two women start dramatically stomping on the ground, gradually fading out the noise it makes until it appears as though they have left the room. Then, without a word, they carefully tiptoe back to the chest and crouch down on either side of it. After a few moments, the lid slowly lifts and a small head covered in blonde ringlets appears to survey the room. Finding it empty, the girl stands. The blonde hair, the angelic face, the infectious laughter; she is a carbon copy of her mother. The triumphant expression she wears, however, is all Santana.

"RAAAWRR!"

Quinn and Santana spring from their hiding spots either side of the chest and grab onto Noah as she bursts into a raucous fit of giggles.

"Nooooo, please…. don't…" the young girl squeals with delight as the two women lift her onto the ground and continue their attack.

"What's did she say? I can't hear her? Did she say she wanted more?" Quinn yells above the laughter.

"Definitely! Just listen… she's having so much fun!" Santana responds, as they set about another round of tickles.

"Noooooooo! Mommy, nooooo! Tana, stop!" Noah pleads, laughing all the while.

"But, you're laughing? I don't understand. Does it hurt?" Quinn asks, she herself unable to contain her laughter.

"No!"

"No? Then what's the problem?"

"It tickles!"

"It _does_?"

"Yeeeeeeeees!"

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad. I mean, it could be worse… right?"

The two women stop tickling as Quinn looks menacingly to Santana then back down to her daughter. Santana's eyes twinkle as she smiles at both of them and slowly lowers herself towards the squirming girl on the floor. As realization dawns, Noah's eyes go wide with horror and delight.

"Noooooooooo!" she screams, but it's too late.

Santana lifts up Noah's tshirt and blows a giant raspberry on her belly. The girl wriggles and giggles and squeals as though she is about to explode with joy and discomfort all at the same time. Santana moves away, allowing Noah to sit up and catch her breath, and her heart swells. Sighing, she looks at her watch.

"Well, shoot… now I'm going to be late for work," she confesses, but there isn't an ounce of disappointment in her voice.

She scrambles to her feet as Quinn and Noah attempt to smooth out each other's hair. Noah's ringlets have become an impossibly tangled mess. Quinn sighs in resignation and kisses her daughter on the top of her head.

"Go say goodbye to Santana."

Noah turns from her mother and rushes over to the Latina, raising her arms in the air. Santana bends down and scoops her up with an exaggerated "umph". Noah places a hand on either side of Santana's face and squishes her cheeks, making her look like a monkey. She giggles and leans forward, allowing Santana to rub their noses together in an Eskimo kiss.

"Bye, Tana."

"Bye, Banana."

Santana gives Noah a final squeeze before setting her back down on the ground and heading for the door. She stops in her tracks and spins around to Quinn.

"Oh, um… I might be a little late tonight."

"Cool, how come?"

"Um… I have… um… just… just because."

Santana is seldom flustered so her vague excuse for an explanation piques Quinn's curiosity instantly.

"Oh my god, do you have a date?"

Santana is slightly annoyed by the amount of excitement and surprise in Quinn's question.

"What? No," she scoffs. "It's just a work thing."

"Shame," Quinn mutters under her breath.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh. Um, I was just thinking, it's a shame… you know, that you don't have a date. I mean, like, ever."

"Whatever."

"Come on, Santana. Don't be so blasé about it. You haven't been on a date in 5 years."

"That's so not true. I've been on plenty of dates. And why are you making such a big deal about this all of a sudden?"

"Plenty is an epic exaggeration. And I'm not making a big deal about it. It's just, sometimes I think that it must suck for you that you don't have someone special in your life."

"I could say the same for you."

Quinn tilts her head to the side and smiles warmly at Santana, "I have Noah."

"Yeah?" Santana responds with the same warm smile. "Me too. And I have you. You two are all the special I need."

* * *

Walking home that night, Santana thinks about the events of the morning. She wasn't lying to Quinn, about her and Noah being all she needs. Every now and then she feels a pang for a life that might have been but, to be honest, the whole long term relationship thing never really did sit with her well. So, it doesn't worry her that she never got around to the dating side of things. When they arrived in LA, things had not been easy. Far from it. They blew threw what little money they had brought with them in a matter of weeks and finding work was hard. No one would hire Quinn in her condition and, on the few occasions that she managed to land a job, it wouldn't take long before Santana was sharing her 'differences of opinion' with her employers. Eventually, she started working as a barista at a Starbucks in Silver Lake and a desperate Quinn had convinced her to just keep her mouth shut while she was on the clock. She managed to hold onto the job, but minimum wage still wasn't enough to keep them fed and put a roof over their heads.

"_I'm not going to let you get a second job, Santana!"_

"_And I'm not going to let my god daughter grow up in the back seat of a station wagon!"_

"_God daughter, huh?" Quinn gave Santana a playful nudge. _

_The Latina huffed in frustration. Her usual surly demeanor was always worse when she was in the middle of a shift. She was on break, sitting with Quinn who often came in for hours at a time to take comfort in the Starbucks air conditioning. She slurped on her "complimentary" lemonade._

"_Stop being so dramatic, we'll work this out before she's born."_

"_Will we? Look at the size of you, Quinn… surely that thing is coming out any day now?"_

"_My due date isn't for another 5 weeks."_

"_Yeah, and we are getting evicted in 2. Look, one of the guys here has a brother who manages a club in West Hollywood. They're hiring at the moment and he said he'd put in a good word for me."_

"_What club?"_

"_I don't know… The Body something? The Body Bar?"_

"_Oh my god, do you mean The Body Shop? Santana, that's a strip club!"_

"_And?"_

"_Wait, you _knew_ that? Why would even consider working there?"_

"_First of all, _YOU_ knew that?" Santana eyed her friend curiously. She was almost impressed. "And second, we don't have much of a choice here, Quinn! That baby will be here before you know it and all of a sudden we will have another mouth to feed and no fucking home."_

"_We will find somewhere." Quinn's voice was small. She knew Santana was right but she didn't want to think about the implications. She just wanted to stop talking about it. She was so tired. They both were._

"_We can't afford the rent in our current shitty apartment, what makes you think we are going to be able to afford any other shitty apartment?"_

"_Maybe we should…"_

"_Don't you dare finish that sentence."_

"_Santana…"_

"_No. Listen to me. We are not going back to Lima, do you hear me?" Santana placed her hand under Quinn's chin and lifted her head so they were eye to eye. Quinn's tears had begun to flow freely and Santana's heart clenched. "I will put raising that baby in the back seat of my car back on the table before I ever consider taking you back there an option, okay?"_

"_Okay," Quinn conceded._

_They sat for a moment, Santana humming while she rubbed Quinn's back, who had tiredly laid her head down in the Latina's lap. No matter what was going on, she always found comfort this way._

"_Excuse me?" said an unfamiliar voice from behind Santana._

"_I'm on break," she retorted abruptly without looking up from Quinn._

"_No, I'm not after a coffee…"_

"_Well, then what the fuck are you doing at Starbucks?" Santana snapped, turning her head to face the woman._

"_Santana…" chided Quinn, delicately, as she sat up. _

_Santana sighed and attempted a smile. "I'm sorry, lady… I didn't mean to be rude. It's just, we're kinda in the middle of something here. I'm sure one of the girls behind the counter can help with a muffin or whatever."_

"_Oh no, dear, this isn't about food. I just couldn't help but overhear you girls talking..."_

_At that, Santana was just about ready to snap again. Who did this bitch think she was, eavesdropping on their private conversation? Quinn placed a soothing hand on her knee and looked up at the woman._

"_Can we help you with something?" Quinn asked, a little confused, but more concerned about keeping Santana's temper under control._

"_Actually, I think I might be able to help _you_ with something."_

Santana smiles at the memory and can't help but chuckle at how rude she had been. She often thinks about that day they met Susan and, more specifically, how things might have turned out if she hadn't come to their rescue. The place they live in now actually belongs to Susan's daughter; a very generous graduation present from her grandparents. They had planned for her to live in the apartment upstairs and work out of the studio on the ground floor but she had been offered a scholarship at a school in New York and had moved there indefinitely only weeks before. Susan was just about to move out of state herself and was preparing to sell it on her daughter's behalf. She had been so moved by Santana and Quinn's plight that she offered them the apartment, with _very_ low rent, right then and there.

It's still not easy, though, their life. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Santana has a better job now, but still wouldn't earn enough money to support Quinn and Noah without the respite of barely-there rent. So, she works hard in the hopes that eventually she will be rewarded accordingly. She knows it's worth it; the long hours, the sacrificed social life. All she wants in this world is to keep her girls happy.

Keeping that in mind, she stops by Ralph's to pick up some ice cream. When they have leftovers for dinner, Santana is on dessert duty. Quinn's instructions are always very clear, "Buy fruit!"

Santana always comes home with something else. At least one of her girls will be happy.

* * *

When she arrives home, she walks into an empty lounge room. She figures Quinn is putting Noah to bed, a feat not easily achieved. She's pretty sure turning up with a tub of Chunky Monkey won't help matters but she's a sucker for seeing Noah's eyes light up at her favorite treat. Quinn's too, though she tries to hide it. She drops her bag and jacket on the table, grabs three spoons from the top drawer in the kitchen and makes her way to Noah's room.

"Where are my two favorite girls in all the world?" she beams as she opens the door. But, her smile fades in an instant at the sight Quinn stroking the hair of her crying daughter.

"Oh, baby girl… what happened?" Santana asks as she sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Susan."

"Who? Wait… our _landlady_ Susan?"

"Yeah, she left a message on the answering machine this afternoon. We listened to it when we got home and Noah's been pretty upset since."

Noah squirms out from under her covers and climbs into Santana's lap, burying her face in her neck. Santana squeezes her tight and looks up at Quinn.

"Q, I'm confused. What did the message say?"

"Her daughter's back."

Santana feels her heart sink.

"Oh."

As much as she thinks about that day 5 years ago, she somehow manages to always skip over the part where Susan had told them that this day might come.

"I had to explain to Noah that this is where we live but it's not really _our_ home. It didn't go over too well."

"Fair enough. I'm feeling a little teary myself. So, she wants to move in here? When?"

"I don't know exactly, apparently she was flying in this evening and coming straight over?"

"Wait, what? Tonight?"

"I guess so."

"And she just expects us to up and leave, just like that?"

"I don't know, Santana. The message was really vague."

"This is fucked."

Noah suddenly stirs in Santana's arms and she lets out a soft giggle. Quinn shoots her a berating look.

"Santana!"

"Shoot. Sorry, Banana. This is… really messed up."

She looks down at the adorable creature in her arms and the wonderful woman sitting in front of her; the two most important things in her life.

Suddenly, there is a knock at the door and anger flares in Santana's eyes. Quinn moves to get up but Santana stops her.

"Uh uh, you stay here with Noah… I'll deal with this."

As she is transferred from one to the other, Noah groggily wraps her arms around her mother's neck. Quinn places a soft kiss on her baby's head and looks up at Santana. "Be nice."

"Pfft, be nice?" Santana mumbles to herself as she shuts the bedroom door behind her. She doesn't want Noah to hear anything; she plans on tearing this bitch a new one. Even though she knows deep down that the girl at her front door has every right to be there, Santana can't help but feel overwhelmed by her anger at the situation. How could someone be so heartless as to kick a family out of their home with no warning? _Family_. The word plays around in her heart, kicking her protective mode into full throttle. Game face on, she rips open the door.

And there, staring back at her with an expectant smile that slowly fades at the sight of Santana, is, quite literally, the girl of her dreams. Her eyes meet the deep pools of blue that belong to the tall, blonde standing in front of her and she is lost for words. Only seconds ago there was a bitter tirade on the tip of her tongue and now there is nothing. It is the other girl who speaks first.

"Santana?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Santana?" the blonde girl repeats, her smile returning with extra enthusiasm. "I can't believe it's you!"

Santana is frozen on the spot, unable to trust her eyes. The face in front of her has had a starring role in her daydreams for so many years, it seems almost impossible that she would be seeing it again, for real, after all this time.

"Um…" the taller girl's smile wavers as she shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other.

"I…" Santana finally manages. Her voice is breathy and laced with awe and disbelief, "It's you."

The girl giggles softly, "Yeah."

The two of them stare at each other for a moment. Santana's eyes dance around the blonde girl's face; it's even more beautiful than she remembers. Shaking off her bewilderment, she allows a small smile to spread across her lips.

"I've been living in _your_ apartment for the past 5 years?"

"It would certainly appear that way."

The girl beams at Santana and steps towards her, her foot coming slightly inside, reminding Santana of the reality of the situation. This is _her_ apartment. Santana's smile vanishes.

"And now you've come to kick me out?"

Her icy delivery forces the girl to step back again, confusion and hurt flashing across her face.

"What? No, of course not."

"Well, your mother lead us to believe that you were coming back to move in here, so…" Santana growls.

The girl was clearly taken aback by the suggestion so Santana knows she is probably being unfair. Yet, she doesn't drop her defences in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, she has a tendency to complicate things. She assumed that's what I would do but, when she told me there were two young women raising a kid living here, I decided I would make other arrangements for myself. I mean, I totally don't need this much room. I was only stopping by to introduce myself, seeing as though… you know…" the blonde girl pauses and grins, trying to coax a smile back out of Santana, "… I'm your new landlord and all."

She extends an arm out to Santana, waiting for the Latina to shake her hand. She doesn't. Nor does she take her eyes off the blonde, the expression of contempt on her face more severe than ever.

"You'll have to excuse, Santana," comes Quinn's voice, cutting through the uncomfortable tension. "I'm not sure she's ever really grasped the concept of manners."

The girl lets out an awkward "ha" as her smile disappears completely, finally taking her eyes off Santana to watch Quinn walking towards them. Stopping at Santana's side, Quinn reaches out and takes the girl's still extended hand.

"I'm Quinn."

"I'm…" she hesitates, looking back to Santana. "I'm Brittany."

Santana's heart clenches. _Brittany._

"Would you like to come in?" Quinn offers. "It is your apartment, after all."

"No, no, please… as I was just explaining to Santana, it's my apartment but it's _your home_. I don't want to intrude."

That is a flat out lie. She desperately does want to intrude. But, Santana's cold stare suggests she is far from welcome. Quinn is about to insist when Santana intervenes.

"Well, we certainly appreciate you stopping by… _Brittany_," she announces, matter-of-factly, emphasizing the name with as much disdain as she can muster.

"I…"

"I'm sure you'll be in touch if there's anything you need.

"Um… sure…"

"Great," Santana says through an exaggerated smile. Her sarcasm lingers in the air as she takes hold of the door and swings it forward. Brittany's confused eyes begin to fill with tears as her face disappears out of sight.

"It was nice to meet…" Quinn calls out, her words lost as the door slams shut. "You."

She spins around to Santana who is already half way across the lounge room. "What the hell was that?"

"What?"

She follows her into the kitchen. "You were _incredibly_ rude to her."

"I'm rude to everybody," Santana replies, retrieving a bottle of whiskey from on top of the fridge. She takes a glass from the shelf and waves it at Quinn, eyebrows raised. Quinn shakes her head and Santana shrugs.

"You're never like _that_."

"Well, whatever. I was angry because she was going to kick us out."

Quinn watches as Santana pours herself a drink, downs it in one go and pours another.

"But, she _wasn't _going to kick us out. Santana, come on. What's going on?"

"Ugh fine," she says, finishing off her second drink and pouring a third. "She's… _her_."

"Who?"

"The girl."

"What girl?"

"The girl!"

Shot.

"Who is?"

"She is."

"The girl?"

"Exactly."

"Which one?"

"_The_ one."

"Santana!" Quinn slams her hand down on top of the glass before Santana can drink the millionth whiskey she just poured. "Stop it! Seriously, I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Santana glares at Quinn, before allowing herself to slump down onto a stool, and lets out a big, long breath.

"_The_ girl, Quinn. The one I told you about when we first drove out here."

Santana raises her eyebrows sheepishly, waiting for Quinn to catch on. It doesn't take her long.

"The girl with no name! Oh my god… Brittany is the girl with no name?"

"Well… not anymore," Santana says, raising her glass halfway to her mouth before sighing and putting it back down. "Brittany," she says softly.

It feels a lot nicer than it did the first time she said it. Regret stabs her in the chest when she thinks of how she spoke to Brittany. Her head begins to swim, overwhelmed by the combination of confused emotions and too much whiskey. Quinn eyes her curiously.

"I still don't understand why you were so rude to her. Was it… um… _not good_? You know, when you…?"

"No! God, Quinn…"

"Sorry! I'm just trying to figure this out. You never told me the story."

"For good reason."

"Which is?"

"You just… wouldn't understand."

"Why? Because she's a girl? Please." She considers something for a moment and then continues, "How about if I tell you my lesbian secret, you tell me yours?"

Santana stops swirling the whiskey around in her glass as her mouth drops open slightly.

"That got your attention, didn't it?" She takes the glass out of Santana's hand and throws back the whiskey, letting out an exaggerated "Aaaahh."

Santana rolls her eyes and snatches back her glass. "Whatever."

"You don't believe me?"

"Not in the slightest. You're the straightest person I know."

"Well, perhaps you've forgotten that I can be pretty good at keeping things from you when I want to…"

Santana gasps, melodramatically, "Are you… _coming out_ to me, Quinn Fabray?"

They both chuckle as Quinn gets herself a glass. Santana pours them each a drink and they sit in silence for a moment, Quinn wearing a smug grin.

"Fuck," Santana sighs. "This is going to drive me crazy. Fine… you tell me, I'll tell you."

Quinn laughs triumphantly. "Okay. Well, it happened at school… Senior Year. But, before I go on you have to _promise_ me that you won't breathe a word of this to _anyone_."

"Who am I going to tell, Q? We don't see anyone from high school anymore."

"Well, technically that's not true. She may not see us, but we definitely see her. The whole world does."

It is now Quinn's turn to wait for Santana to catch on. When she does, her eyes go impossibly wide and she almost chokes on her drink.

"Oh. My. God. You hooked up with _Rachel Berry_!"

Quinn doesn't say anything, but nods her head ever so slightly. She struggles to contain a huge grin that is threatening to emerge; partly from the knowledge that she has done the near impossible, in shocking Santana, and partly from the memory.

"How the hell did that even happen?" Santana questions in bewilderment.

"I said I would tell you the secret, not the story. Your turn."

"You've got to be fucking kidding..."

"I'm dead serious, Santana. Tell me about Brittany. Now." She was using her Mom voice; it wasn't a question.

"Okay, fine. But, I am going to get the Rachel Berry story out of you one day."

Quinn shoots her a challenging grin before settling down onto the stool on the other side of the counter.

* * *

_Santana held her poms poms over her head as she ran towards the nearest building, though they didn't really provide her much shelter. Reaching the door she pulled it open and threw herself inside, just in time to get out of the rain as it turned into a full on torrential downpour. _

"_Shit," she muttered as she looked down at her drenched uniform. Coach Sylvester was not going to be happy about this. The rest of the team would have made it back to the dorms before the rain started and Santana cursed herself for hanging back to sneak in a smoke._

"_There's a heater over here if you want to try and dry it?"_

_Santana spun around, startled by the unexpected voice, and was shocked to find it belonged to a tall, blonde girl who was standing only a few yards away from her… in her underwear. Being a cheerleader, Santana spent a lot of time in the locker room and was used to seeing girls in various states of undress. On top of that, no one could ever accuse her of being prudish. But, she never actually made a deliberate effort to _look_. It dawned on her now, though, that she might very well be gawking. But, she didn't really blame herself; the figure in front of her was a sight to behold. The girl had long, blonde hair and ivory skin, both rain-soaked and glistening. Her underwear was bright pink with black polka dots and her legs seemed to go on forever. Mouth agape, Santana blinked deliberately a couple of times as the girl continued to smile at her, eyebrows slightly raised. The fact that she was seemingly very comfortable with the whole situation was making Santana feel slightly awkward and it snapped her out of her trance._

"_Um… I think I'll just head back to my room," she said, turning swiftly towards the door she just came through._

"_You can't go back out there," the girl chuckled. "It's dangerous."_

"_Thanks for the concern but it's just a bit of rain," Santana responded, reaching for the door handle._

"_I don't think so," replied the girl, light-heartedly. _

_And just then, as if on cue, the sky lit up with a giant bolt of lightening, followed almost instantly by a loud rumble of thunder that actually shook the building._

"_Or, maybe I could wait a few minutes."_

_The blonde smiled at Santana, without a hint of 'I told you so' and spun around, allowing Santana a full view of her back. And her…_

"_At least come and _sit_ by the heater if you're not going to take your uniform off. You'll freeze otherwise."_

_The blonde shot a look over her shoulder back at Santana, who cleared her throat, mortified that she may have just been busted checking out this girl's ass. She couldn't decide if she was more mortified by getting caught or by the act itself. _

"_Yeah… okay."_

_Santana made her way to where the blonde had sat down in the corner of the room, her green cheerleading uniform draped haphazardly over a heater. She looked around, ascertaining that it was some kind of multi-purpose classroom. The Cheerleading National Championships were being held in Ann Arbor this year and the out of town squads were being put up at the University of Michigan's student housing that was already empty for the Summer. The Cheerios had just finished practising their routine out on the hockey field when Santana decided to make the quick cigarette detour. She hadn't expected to be caught in a storm at this time of year._

"_This rain sucks," mumbled Santana, mostly to herself. _

"_You think so? I love the rain. That's why I went for a walk."_

"_You came out in this? Willingly?"_

"_Well, it wasn't this heavy to begin with, silly" the girl says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I was only going to take a short walk but then I forgot where my room was."_

_Santana couldn't help but laugh. Not _at_ the girl, per se… but maybe _with_ her? She was unsure. There was just something about her that… made her smile. Santana didn't often take a liking to people straight away. In fact, she didn't really take a liking to people full stop. Most of them just annoyed the crap out of her. But, Santana had been having a bad day, or even a bad _life _her attitude might suggest, and somehow this girl, a complete stranger, was causing all the tension to drain from her body without even doing anything. She had been avoiding looking directly at her while they spoke but chanced a peek now, only to find the girl staring straight back at her._

"_You know, the heater's not going to help you much if you stand _behind_ it like that. Come over here," she said, gently patting the ground next to her._

_Santana hesitated for a moment before moving around to the other side. The blonde was sitting with her back against the wall, wriggling her toes in front of the heater. Standing awkwardly next to her, Santana didn't really know what to do next. Suddenly a tingling sensation shot up her arm as she felt something twist around her pinky finger and tug her downwards. She dropped the last foot or so and landed on her ass with a small thud. The girl giggled, keeping their pinkies linked. Santana was completely bewildered._

"_I'm Santana," she offered, eventually._

_Warmth spread through the girl's smile, which Santana was starting to think might be a permanent fixture on her face._

"_Hi!" she responded, squeezing her hand. She held eye contact with Santana for a moment before turning her attention back to wriggling her toes._

_Santana felt herself really smile and shook her head in wonder. Who _was_ this girl?_

"_So, you're a cheerleader?" _

_Even before the words were out of her mouth, Santana was cursing herself for how stupid it sounded. She rolled her eyes in embarrassment and wished she could crawl under a table and disappear. But, the girl smiled at her. Of course._

"_Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I really just like to dance, so…" the girl shrugged._

"_Cool," breathed Santana. _

_She found herself trying to picture what this girl might look like while she danced… in her underwear. It wasn't hard; the girl _was_ sitting right there… in her underwear! Santana felt her hand being squeezed again and slowly forced herself to look up, full of shame, feeling like her mind had just been read, and expected to see the girl's accusatory eyes on her. But, no. She was still just looking at her toes and smiling to herself. Santana felt her heart start to pound a little faster. Was it possible that just sitting here like this was making her… happy? She looked down at their feet, both of them now wriggling their toes in front of the heater. It felt really good. Santana stared at her companion's feet for a little while longer before her eyes slowly started making their way back up the impossibly long legs. She paused ever so briefly when her eyes wandered over the girl's bright pink underwear, then continued on to take in her toned abs and up even further to… Santana's breath hitched in her throat. She couldn't help but notice the girl's breasts were rising and falling rather significantly; she was clearly breathing quite heavily. Despite still being considerably drenched, Santana suddenly felt very warm. After holding there a moment longer, she continued eyeing the girl's barely-clothed body, her skin still slightly wet. This time, when she finally looked up, the girl's crystal blue eyes were staring back at her. _

_Santana quickly averted her eyes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, completely embarrassed. _

"_It's okay. I liked watching you look at me," she said, making Santana's eyes go wide. "It was hot."_

_Santana was completely taken aback. Not knowing how to respond she let out an "oh" but was fairly certain it was inaudible. She felt herself shiver as the warmth left her skin and settled itself in the pit of her stomach._

"_Besides," the girl continued, "I'd probably be doing the same thing if you had agreed to take _your_ clothes off."_

"_You… you _wanted_ me to take them off?" Santana stuttered. This girl had made her nervous and flustered; two things that seldom happened to Santana._

_The girl laughed. "I wanted you to not die of pneumonia right in front of me. But, now that you mention it… yeah, I guess I _did_ want you to take them off," she said with a shrug, before adding, "Still do."_

_Santana swallowed hard, her breathing now on par with that of the girl sitting flush up against her. She cleared her throat, again, and allowed her eyes to fall on the girl's mouth. She felt the warmth in her stomach shift, much, much lower, as the girl slowly licked her lips and inched her face impossibly close. _

"_Santana?" the girl whispered into her ear._

"_Uhuh…?" Santana breathed._

"_Kiss me." _

_Santana pulled back slightly to search for reassurance in the girl's eyes. They creased slightly at the corners when she smiled and nodded slowly to Santana._

_Taking in a deep breath and licking her own lips, Santana hesitated. The girl's face was merely inches away from her own. Her breathing had become uneven and she felt herself start to tremble. Then, there was a sudden emptiness as the girl untangled their fingers. Santana dropped her eyes only to lift them again a moment later as the girl brought her hand up to push a stray piece of hair off her face. _

"_Kiss me, Santana."_

_And with that, Santana closed the gap between them in an instant, pressing their lips together intensely. She pulled back slightly and felt the other girl gasp against her mouth. Santana moved in again, this time pushing forward with her whole body. The girl ran her tongue along Santana's bottom lip and she felt herself involuntarily moan, which caused the blonde to smile into the kiss and wrap her arms around Santana's neck. She felt the heat spread throughout her entire body as she rocked slightly into the girl beside her. Reaching her hands up, the girl pulled Santana's hair free of its ponytail and ran her fingers through the thick mane. It made Santana bite down a little and the blonde grunted in response. She pushed her tongue insistently against Santana's lips and Santana allowed her to deepen the kiss by parting them slightly. Their tongues and bodies pushed rhythmically against each other; the kisses becoming more and more urgent, their breaths becoming more and more desperate. The blonde untangled her hands from Santana's hair and ran them down the Latina's sides. She clenched her fingers around the bottom of Santana's top and tugged upwards. _

"_Off!" she commanded._

_This time Santana didn't need to be told twice as she raised her arms in the air to let the blonde pull her top up and over her head in one swift motion. She threw it across the room and put her hands back on Santana, hooking her fingers gently under the waistband of her skirt._

"_This, too."_

_Santana reached around and fumbled with the zipper, unable to get a good grip on it due to the awkward angle. _

"_Hang on, I need to stand up," she panted and scrambled to her feet. She leant back against the wall for support, not trusting her legs to hold her steady, and wriggled her skirt around so the zipper was in front. She cursed as she tried in vain to pull it down._

"_Don't worry about it," the blonde chuckled, kneeling in front of Santana. "And don't move."_

_A cheeky grin spread across her face as she shuffled forward, somehow gracefully, and placed her hands on Santana's thighs. Santana felt a sharp intake of breath catch in her throat as the blonde reached up and deftly removed her underwear from beneath the skirt. _

_Although she was still grinning, the blonde looked up to Santana and waited for a sign that this wasn't okay. When it didn't come she let out a happy hum and lifted Santana's skirt. _

"Oh my God, STOP!"

Quinn literally throws herself across the kitchen counter to clamp her hand over Santana's mouth.

Santana's eyes go wide as she realizes that she may have gotten a bit carried away recounting the memory. She mumbles an apology into Quinn's palm as her cheeks flush.

"It's okay," Quinn says, her own cheeks a deep shade of crimson. She retracts her arm so she can loosen the collar of her shirt and fan herself for a moment. "That was just a bit… wow… um… can you skip forward to… _after_?"

"Sure," Santana says, her mood altering abruptly. "She left."

"What do you mean?"

Santana is suddenly very over telling this story.

"I mean she just fucking left, Quinn. I gave her my number, she didn't give her name. I couldn't find her at the competition the next day and I was a little _preoccupied _during our time together to make a note of which school she went to."

Santana spins around and jumps off her stool, taking her glass to the sink.

"She never called you," Quinn says. It's a statement of understanding, not a question.

"No," Santana confirms, still facing away from Quinn. "She never called me."

"I'm sorry, S. That must have sucked. But, are you really still holding a grudge against this girl for something that she did 6 years ago… When she was a teenager?"

"Yes."

"Santana..."

"I told you you wouldn't understand," Santana sulks.

She turns back around and Quinn looks at her friend with sympathy and curiosity. It's not often she sees Santana looking vulnerable and it makes her heart ache a little.

"It wasn't just…_ physical_, Quinn. She made me feel things. I mean, like… emotions."

Quinn can't help but giggle and, instead of the icy glare she expects from Santana in return, her friend looks at her with watery eyes.

"Oh, babe… you really liked her?"

Santana just shrugs.

"There could be a million reasons she didn't call. Obviously she was living on the other side of the country… maybe she thought it would just be too hard."

"Or maybe I was just some random hook up; just a bit of fun that didn't mean anything," Santana huffs.

"Did she recognise you?"

"Huh?"

"When you opened the door earlier… did she know who you were?"

Santana pauses before answering.

"Yes," she admits, quietly.

Quinn raises her eyebrows, a hint of victory dancing across her face.

"That doesn't mean anything," Santana mumbles.

"Maybe not. Or _maybe_ it means she's been thinking about you all these years just like you've been thinking about her."

Santana's head shoots up and Quinn answers her question before she can even ask it. "You're my best friend, Santana. I knew there was _someone_. I just didn't realise it was her."

"Well, whatever. It's ancient history now. Clearly, I'd given the whole thing a lot more meaning than it actually had and I've been hanging onto a stupid fantasy for all these years," she concludes. "This is good. It's, like, closure or whatever. You deal with the rent and stuff anyway so chances are I'll never have to speak to her, again. Which suits me just fine."

"Santana…"

"I mean it, Quinn. Ancient history."

There is a finality in her voice that tells Quinn the conversation is over. Santana smiles and yawns, lifting herself off the stool and making her way out of the room.

"Drink some water before you go to bed!" Quinn calls after her, as Santana disappears around the corner with a dismissive wave of her hand.

She sighs and shakes her head, placing the whiskey bottle back on the fridge and flicking off the light on her way out of the kitchen.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews and comments, you guys! Keep 'em coming... the more _you_ write, the more it makes _me_ want to write!)**

**Come find me on Tumblr., too... thethoughtjester(dot)tumblr(dot)com xo**


	7. Chapter 7

"Auntie Tana?" a small voice whispers.

Santana feels warm breath tickle her face. She stirs, but doesn't open her eyes.

"Taaaanaaaaa…. I know you're awake."

Santana groans, "I'm not."

She hears Noah giggle. Still without opening her eyes she reaches behind her, pulls the pillow out from under her head and drops it on top of her face.

"Auntie Tana, I have a present for you," Noah tells her in a loud whisper.

"I'm sleeping!"

"No you're not, you're talking!"

Noah giggles, again. Santana grumbles. She feels the pillow lift off her face slightly and slowly opens one eye to find Noah peeking in at her.

"Told you you were awake."

Santana pokes out her tongue and sits up, throwing the pillow into Noah. Her head pounds at the sudden movement and she presses her palms to her eyes. Noah places the pillow behind Santana and she leans back into it gratefully.

"Where's my present?"

Noah's eyes light up and she climbs over Santana, retrieving a mug of coffee from her bedside table. She settles herself in Santana's lap, clutching the mug in her tiny hands. She blows on it dramatically before handing it to Santana.

"Mommy said you would need this."

Santana narrows her eyes, "She did, did she?"

"Yup!"

Santana takes a sip and sighs thankfully. She takes a few more big gulps, emptying half the mug.

"Well, don't tell your mom I said this…" she lowers her voice to a whisper, "but she was right."

Santana hears a chuckle and looks up to see Quinn standing in the doorway.

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Not a chance."

Noah turns to face Quinn with a beaming smile, "Mommy, Tana's awake!"

"Yes, I can see that, pumpkin."

"That means we can make pancakes now!"

"Pancakes?" Santana looks over Noah's head at Quinn, still leaning against the doorframe. The blonde shrugs. Santana sighs as the memories of last night creep in past her headache.

"I know what you're doing."

"What do you mean?" Quinn asks innocently.

"Since when do you make pancakes on a weekday? I don't need cheering up, Q."

Quinn is unconvinced but says nothing. Noah turns back to Santana and wriggles closer, leaning down so she can whisper in her ear.

"Can you pretend, Tana? I reeeeeally want pancakes."

Santana lets out a laugh, which makes her head pound, again. She glances at the clock. 7:03am. Scrunching her nose, she looks back at Quinn. "If those pancakes come with more coffee, I'm in. But, I don't want to talk about last night. Got it?"

"Whatever you say," Quinn responds with a smirk and heads towards the kitchen.

Noah lets out a cheer and scrambles off Santana, causing her to groan. As the girl runs out behind her mom, Santana flops forward and whimpers.

"Make it strong, Quinn!" she yells.

* * *

"You look like crap."

"How can you even tell?" replies Santana in a muffled grumble. She is slumped on her desk with her head buried in her arms.

"You've been staggering around like a zombie all morning, Lopez. Big night?"

Santana looks up to find Dave grinning at her smugly. He places a mug in front of her and she smiles gratefully. Of all her co-workers, Dave is her favorite. Probably because he's gay and therefore doesn't hit on her every other day like the rest of the guys.

"Sort of," she replies, sitting up and taking a sip from the mug. She scrunches her nose in disgust, "What the hell is this? You gave me _tea_?"

"You drink too much coffee," Dave responds. "The tea is good for you."

"It tastes like crap."

Dave laughs and sits down on the corner of her desk. "Spill, chica. Why the weekday hangover? Hot date?"

He says it jokingly, not expecting the answer to be anything that exciting. Which Santana is thankful for; the story has been playing over and over in her mind since last night and she doesn't feel like telling it again.

"I didn't sleep very well," Santana explains.

Dave scoffs, "Santana, I can practically _smell_ the whiskey."

She frowns. "Well, yeah… I may have had a few drinks. But, I didn't sleep very well either."

Dave raises his eyebrows questioningly but Santana remains silent.

"So, go home. We've only got one more client in today; we'll manage."

"Randy said she was a VIP, though. I should probably stay."

"Actually, that's probably why you should go. I'm sure Randy doesn't want your hung-over mug to be the first thing Miss Whoever It Is sees when she walks in. No one wants to be greeted by a corpse."

"Fuck you," she glares at him but there is laughter in her tired eyes. He winks and pats her on the back.

"Thanks, Dave."

"No worries, kiddo."

* * *

"_Don't worry about it," the blonde chuckled, kneeling in front of Santana. "And don't move."_

_A cheeky grin spread across her face as she shuffled forward, somehow gracefully, and placed her hands on Santana's thighs. Santana felt a sharp intake of breath catch in her throat as the blonde reached up and deftly removed her underwear from beneath the skirt. _

_Although she was still grinning, the blonde looked up to Santana and waited for a sign that this wasn't okay. When it didn't come she let out a happy hum and lifted Santana's skirt. _

_Santana held her breath and felt the blush creep slowly across her face as the girl beneath her edged forward. From the throbbing between her legs she knew that her arousal would be more than obvious to the blonde. _

_She steeled herself as the girl placed soft kisses up the inside of her thigh. Her hands were softly stroking the backs of her legs and Santana found herself getting dizzy. When the girl's mouth finally pressed into her completely, her legs buckled and she grabbed hold of the girl's shoulders._

"_Stop…" she breathed. The blonde pulled back and looked up at Santana with concerned eyes. "I can't…" Santana continued, "I mean, I'm going to fall over if you…"_

_The girl stifled a laugh and gently ran her hands up Santana's sides as she rose to her feet. She wrapped one arm around Santana's waist and pressed the other hand against her chest, pushing Santana back up against the wall. She ghosted her lips against Santana's and whispered gently to her, "It's okay, I've got you."_

Santana still can't help but smile as she walks home, playing the memory over in her head for probably the 12th time that day and god knows how many times in the last 6 years. She lets her thoughts wander through the rest of the encounter, remembering the way Brittany had made her feel, had made her ache with want and pleasure. She forces herself to replay their final moments together, the moments she is usually good at forgetting, the ones that flashed through her mind as Brittany stood in front of her last night.

_Santana ran her fingers along the girl's jaw line and down her neck, leaning in closer to kiss her gently. She pressed her hand into the girl's chest, feeling the speeding heartbeat finally starting to steady._

"_Mmm," she hummed into the blonde's mouth._

"_Agreed," the girl murmured in reply, a sleepy smile spreading happily across her lips._

_Santana caught a glimpse through the window, amongst the ocean of lazy kisses._

"_It's stopped raining."_

"_And?" the girl asked, taking hold of Santana's face and bringing it back in line with her own, kissing her quickly._

"_Shouldn't you be getting back to your squad or something?" questioned Santana, reluctantly._

"_Shouldn't you?" the blonde responded with smile._

"_Definitely," Santana confirmed, making no move to get up. She pressed her lips against the other girl's and held there for a moment, desperate to commit the feeling to memory. She pulled back and looked at the blonde's beautiful face. "I…" she started but couldn't find the words. She just stared into the blue eyes beneath her and was overwhelmed by the feeling of imminent loss._

"_I don't want to leave either," the blonde whispered._

_They stayed like that for a few moments longer before untangling themselves from each other in silence, the air heavy with too many things to say. Santana wandered over to a table and ran her fingers across a selection of pens and pencils._

"_Hey," called the girl, and she spun around in time to catch the uniform top that was flying through the air._

"_Thanks," she said, tugging it on over her head. She watched the blonde take her own uniform off the heater and slowly get dressed. The girl smiled and Santana imagined that her clothes must not only be dry, but very warm, by now. She picked up a pen and made her way back to their corner. As the girl finished zipping herself up, Santana took her arm and twisted it gently so that her wrist was facing upwards. Their eyes met as Santana removed the pen's cap with her teeth, arching an eyebrow with an accompanying grin. The girl's eyes seemed to become a deeper shade of blue as she silently watched Santana scribble a phone number on her arm._

_When she was done, the girl wrapped her arms around Santana's neck and pulled her in for a passionate kiss. Santana felt herself begin to tremble all over again and forced herself to break away._

"_Thanks," she muttered, pressing their foreheads together._

'_What for?" the blonde smiled._

"_I don't know," Santana smiled back. "Not letting me die of pneumonia?"_

_The blonde laughed, "Definitely my pleasure."_

"_Will you… call me?"_

"_Think you'll need warming up again tomorrow, Santana?" the blonde teased._

_Santana's grin grew wider, "I'm certain of it."_

"_Score," the girl said, as she winked at Santana, let her go and headed for the door. Santana was so mesmerized by the way she moved that the girl was halfway out before it dawned on her. _

"_Wait!" Santana called. But, it was too late. The girl had vanished and the door slowly swung to a close. Santana sighed into the empty room, "I didn't get your name."_

"Brittany," she says to herself, wondering if knowing her name would have made any difference these past years. Santana had always thought the mystery made the whole thing even more romantic, at least on the occasions when she decided to overlook the fact that the girl had never called her. As she gets closer to home Santana's natural defenses take over her train of thought and her mind stalls on that last fact. She never called. Her anger flares again. She decides that knowing her name would have been better. Maybe without the sense of mystery and romance Santana wouldn't have held on to the fantasy for all this time. Brittany would have been just a girl, not _the_ girl.

Maybe.

* * *

"Ugh, I'm never drinking again," Santana grumbles, to no one in particular, as she bustles through the door. She drops her bag and keys on the table and falls onto the sofa, face first.

"Santana, you're home…" comes Quinn's surprised voice from the kitchen.

"I feel like shit," she calls back. She lifts her face slightly from the cushions and sniffs the air. "So they let me leave work early. Is that fresh coffee? Fuck it smells amazing. Pour me a cup, woman!" She drops her face back into the cushions and groans dramatically.

"There's some—"

"Whatever you're about to say, you better be saying it while you're getting me some fucking coffee," Santana shouts playfully.

"Santana!"

Santana knows that tone. It's Quinn's 'I disapprove of you current behavior' tone. She assumes she is also being given the matching look that usually comes along with it but her face is still half buried in the sofa cushions so she can't be sure. She wonders what she's done to deserve it. Quinn doesn't mind Santana's penchant for cursing when Noah's not in the house and she should be at kindergarten now. Curiosity, and a desperate need for coffee, gets the better of her and she lifts herself off the couch and makes her way over to the kitchen.

"I know the kid isn't here, so what's the prob-"

Santana stops dead in her tracks as she properly takes in her surroundings for the first time since getting home. She was right about the fresh coffee. The pot sits in the middle of the kitchen bench, with Quinn on one side and Brittany on the other.

* * *

The three women stare at each other awkwardly for what feels like minutes.

"So, Brittany stopped by…" Quinn offers, a little too enthusiastically.

Santana shoots her glare that clearly says _no shit _and then looks back to Brittany.

"Well," Quinn continues, "I'm going to give you two a minute."

Santana is about to protest but Quinn gives her the 'I don't approve of your current behavior' look that she is owed from earlier and leaves the room. Brittany and Santana continue to stare wordlessly at each other; the blonde not knowing how to break the ice and the latter still angry from her walk home. Suddenly, Brittany reaches for the pot on the bench.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asks hopefully.

"Really? You're offering me coffee in my own house?" Santana snarks.

"Well, technically it's _my_ house," Brittany shoots back before she can help herself.

Santana raises her eyebrows and Brittany's face softens with regret.

"Santana, I didn't come here to fight with you."

"Doesn't seem that way."

"I know, it's just you… you provoked me. Honestly, I don't consider this my place at all. You can stay her as long as you like."

"Yeah, you said all that last night. Was there something else you wanted?"

Santana is being cold and Brittany feels a lump forming in her throat.

"Yes," she says, trying to keep her voice steady, "I came to apologize."

Santana arches her eyebrows again, expectantly.

"Oh, right…" Brittany continues, "I'm really sorry."

"For what?"

"Um… whatever I did to make you hate me so much?"

"Hold up. You don't even know what you're apologizing to me for?"

"Well, I think I do. But, I mean, I don't know… you were, like, _really_ angry yesterday. I thought maybe there was something else besides…"

"You fucking me and then never calling?"

Brittany winces. Santana knows she is being too harsh but she can't seem to stop. When Brittany has no response she continues.

"I'm sorry, did I forget to mention this on the day we met… that I'm a bitch? Guess both of us neglected to mention some things."

"You're not a bitch…" Brittany says, almost a whisper.

"How would you know? You don't know me. And I don't know you. We spent what, like, an hour together? _Six _years ago. I didn't even know your name until yesterday."

Santana's tone is still cold and harsh but she feels her eyes starting to well with tears so she turns away.

"I was going to tell you my name…"

"When?" Santana cuts in, her voice suddenly a little softer, "When you called?" She is running out of anger, sadness finally taking over. "You disappeared."

Brittany freezes. She can tell Santana is crying.

"I know. Santana, I'm so sorry… when I got back to my room I had a shower without thinking. Half your number had washed off before I realized. Our semi final was first up in the morning and we totally bombed it. Coach made us pack and leave almost immediately… I didn't know where to look for you... I'm not… I'm not very good at that stuff."

"At what stuff?"

"Well… all stuff, actually. I mean, I'm not really very good at things."

Santana can't help herself, "I have memories that would suggest otherwise."

Brittany smiles and takes the opportunity to move closer. She reaches out her hand and places it on Santana's shoulder. Santana flinches and spins around with the momentum of her remaining sparks of anger.

"Don't…"

Brittany's heart clenches at the hurt in Santana's eyes.

"I tried to find you, Santana."

"Whatever," Santana says, taking in a deep breath and shaking off her tears. "I think you should go." She musters up some resolve, thankful that her voice is remaining steady.

"If that's what you want."

"Yes," Santana replies. She can't let her in. She won't.

"Okay," Brittany concedes warmly. "But, first…"

Santana sees the movement out of the corner of her eye just moments before the tingling sensation shoots up her arm. She tries to pull away but Brittany tightens her grip around Santana's wrist and twists it gently upwards. With her other hand she pulls a Sharpie out of her pocket and removes the cap with her teeth. Santana's mouth falls open slightly but no sound comes out. She just watches in wonder as Brittany writes her phone number, in permanent marker, on her arm.

"That'll take a few showers," Brittany says quietly. "Maybe you'll change your mind about me in the mean time."

She brushes her thumb over the number and slowly lets go of Santana's arm. The Latina remains speechless as Brittany smiles at her with sad eyes and turns to leave.

"Tell Quinn I said thanks for the coffee," she adds before walking out the door.

It's only a matter of seconds before Quinn enters the room.

"I heard the door. Is she gone? What did she say?" she asks excitedly.

Santana allows herself to drop down onto the couch, feeling completely overcome. She still can't quite believe that her mystery girl is back in her life. And even more so, she won't let herself believe that the reason she didn't call was all a big accident. It just seems so… so unfair. Could she really have been obsessing over a long lost possibility for so many years all because the girl took a damn shower? Absentmindedly, she remembers that Quinn had come in.

"She said 'Thanks for the coffee.'"

"I meant what did she say to you, you idiot."

Santana raises her tear-filled eyes to Quinn.

"Oh, I…" Quinn stutters, "I was expecting Happy Santana…"

Santana's brow furrows in confusion, an expression mirrored by her best friend.

"Did she you tell you about the number washing off?"

"Um, yes…"

"And that she tried to find you…"

"God, how long was she here before I came home?"

"A little while. I had to pry the story out of her, though… think she wanted to talk to you first."

Santana shoots her a disapproving look.

"What? You were supposed to be at work! I figured one of us should get her explanation."

'Well, whatever… she said what she came to say and that's that."

Santana goes to stand and Quinn pushes her back down, taking a seat next to her on the sofa.

"What do you mean 'that's that'? After all the effort she made? She obviously felt the same way about you, Santana," Quinn almost shouts, standing back up. Her tone is admonishing and it confuses Santana.

"What effort?" she shouts back. "She lost my number and left town!"

"But, what about after that?"

"There was no after that, Quinn! I told you, I never heard from her."

"Oh my god," Quinn gasps as she sits back down.

"Can you please stop doing that, you're making me dizzy."

"She didn't tell you…"

"Tell me what?"

"That she tried to find you."

Santana's brow creases even deeper, "She said she didn't know where to look."

"Not at Nationals, Santana. When she got home."

"What are you talking about?"

"She still had the first half of your number."

"So?" Santana sighs, suddenly exhausted.

"So, someone told her it was an Ohio area code… she got on the internet and started calling every high school she could find."

"In the county?"

"In _Ohio_."

Santana's eyes go wide as the implications slowly register. "Oh wow," she says softly.

"Yeah. Needless to say, she didn't find you."

"Wait… did she call _all of them_? That's got to be, like, _a thousand_ schools?"

"No, she gave up eventually. Although, I actually don't think she would have if people hadn't been so rude to her."

"What?" Santana shouts, shooting to her feet, "Why were they rude to her?" She is a little taken aback by her own sudden protectiveness of Brittany, though it doesn't seem to surprise Quinn at all.

"She was literally calling high school after high school asking if they had 'a hot student named Santana' on their cheerleading squad."

Santana's jaw drops. She wants to laugh but she's in so much shock that she just sits down again. Quinn continues, "She didn't really seem to understand why no one was willing to help her, either." There is a hint of affection in Quinn's voice as she pats Santana on the knee and gets up off the sofa.

"Where are you going?" Santana asks.

"I have a child to collect from school," Quinn replies, looking down warmly at her friend. "And I believe you have a phone call to make."

She reaches into Santana's bag on the table and pulls out her phone, throwing it to her with a wink. Santana catches it and watches Quinn leave, before slowly turning her attention to the ten numbers on her forearm.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry about the delay guys. Been a little busy. And I've been drawing. For those of you who really like to visualise, these are links to the floorplans of the apartment (first floor) and studio (ground floor)...**

**i45 tinypic com b5s3sw jpg**

**i45 tinypic com r7985v jpg**

**They are **_not_** to scale, lol.**

* * *

Santana chews anxiously at her bottom lip. She notices that her hands are shaking slightly as she carefully presses numbers on the keypad, her eyes darting back and forth between her arm and her phone. She double checks the number and lets her thumb hover over the Call button. She swallows deliberately, trying to ease the frantic pounding in her chest. It doesn't help. She stares at her phone a moment longer.

"Fuck."

She shifts her thumb to the right and clears the number.

She throws her phone across the room with a frustrated groan. It lands on the other sofa as Noah comes bounding through the front door, followed by her mom. Quinn looks at the phone and then back to Santana.

"Did it not go well?" she asks, confused.

"It didn't go at all," Santana responds, flopping forward on the sofa with an exhausted huff.

"No answer? Or have you just been sitting here this whole time?" Quinn asks as Noah retrieves Santana's phone from the sofa and clambers up onto her lap. "I left you over an hour ago!"

"This isn't very easy for me, Q…" Santana says softly as she absentmindedly plays with Noah's hair. "After everything-"

"How can you still be angry with her?" Quinn cuts her off, almost yelling. She sits down on the chest in front of Santana and Noah. "Now that you know what happened…"

"I'm not _angry _with her," Santana counters gently. She pauses before adding, "I'm terrified of her."

"What?" It's definitely not the response she was expecting.

"Do you remember what I was like before we left Ohio?" Santana asks earnestly. "I was miserable. And I did my best to make damn sure everyone around me was miserable, too."

"Not always," Quinn smiles. "You and I had some pretty good times."

"Of course we did. You know, when we weren't trying to knock each other of the top of the pyramid."

Quinn laughs in agreement. "I still don't get what this has to do with Brittany."

"Meeting Brittany was a wake up call for me. Like, _the_ wake up call. It made me realize why I was so angry all the time. I wasn't being myself. But, it also made the anger ten times worse when she didn't call. I felt so cheated. Having my eyes opened only to have my heart trampled on? I was pretty pissed at the universe."

"Okay…"

"I've spent the last six years dreaming about how amazing she made me feel and hating her at the same time. Hating the world. I put up a lot of walls, Quinn. And I got comfortable behind them."

Quinn smiles at Santana with softness in her eyes, her brows slightly raised.

"What?" Santana asks.

"Nothing, it's just… I'm not used to you being so… so insightful and self aware."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Well, whatever. Don't get used to it. I've just done a lot of thinking since last night and now I'm kind of freaking out."

"Because you think she's going to hurt you? That's why you're terrified of her?"

"I guess." Santana concedes. "I don't know. She just… I never actually thought I was going to see her again. And now I'm not sure what to do."

"Well, you could start by calling her."

"I don't think I can."

"It's just a phone call, S. And you're Santana freakin' Lopez. Since when is there anything you can't do? And anything that you're scared of, for that matter?"

"Well, you know I'm not crazy about spiders," she jokes.

"Santana…"

"Okay, okay… where's my phone?"

On cue, their attention is drawn to the floor by a distant ringing from downstairs. It is cut off suddenly by a muffled voice, followed quickly by the sound of Noah's.

"Hello?"

Quinn and Santana turn their heads to find Noah standing by the kitchen, Santana's phone to her ear. They had been so focused on their conversation that neither had really noticed Noah climb off Santana's lap.

"I'm Noah… who is this?"

Quinn smiles a vague apology at Santana as they both stand up. It's not the first time the kid has "borrowed" one of their phones. Santana furrows her brow exaggeratedly as she approaches Noah, but stops dead in her tracks as the girl says her next words into the phone.

"Hello, Brittany."

Santana's eyes go wide as she slowly peers down at her forearm, Brittany's phone number blatantly scrawled across it in thick black marker. She looks back at Noah who is grinning happily.

"It's a secret," Noah giggles into the phone.

Santana looks at Quinn who shakes her head and shrugs, trying her best to stifle a laugh. She turns her attention back to Noah who is still giggling into the phone.

"Noah, honey… can I have my phone back, please?"

Noah pouts cheekily, "But, I'm talking to my new friend Brittany."

"I know, Banana… but, I think I would really like to talk to Brittany, too."

Noah considers for a moment before whispering into the phone, "Do you want to talk to my Auntie Tana?"

Noah listens intently before sighing and handing the phone to Santana. Santana puts the phone to her ear and opens her mouth to speak, before realizing she still has no idea what to say. The silence seems to last a lifetime.

"Hello?" Brittany's voice finally comes from the other end.

"Um…" Santana manages, her voice croaky and unsure. "Sorry, hi… it's…"

"Santana?"

Santana's heart beats so hard against her chest that she fears it may actually be audible to Brittany on the other end of the line.

"Yeah."

"Hi!" Brittany beams.

Santana can hear the smile in her voice and warmth washes over her. She is transported back to that rainy day all those years ago. Her heart swells.

"Hi," she smiles into the phone.

"Um, who was I just talking to?"

Santana chuckles. "Noah… Quinn's daughter. She's a trouble-maker."

"And does she get that from her mom… or…?"

Santana smirks but doesn't have time to formulate a response. Quinn is gesturing madly to get her attention.

"What?" Santana mouths with annoyance.

Quinn points to her ear and then gestures to the floor. Santana takes a moment to realize what she is trying to say.

"Santana? Are you still there?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Yes, I'm here," Santana bumbles out. "Hi."

Brittany giggles, "Hi."

"Um… I…" Santana struggles against her nerves once again. No one else has ever had the ability to make her so lost for words. She searches around in her mind but continues to draw a blank. Before she can completely panic, Brittany lets out a soft hum.

"I'm glad you called," she says.

Santana relaxes a little and exhales silently. "Me too."

"Except…"

Santana's heart starts racing again, "Except what?"

"_You _didn't call me," Brittany teases.

"Oh," Santana breathes. "Did you want me to put Noah back on the phone?"

Brittany laughs and Santana turns to face a beaming Noah.

* * *

"Hi, Brittany!"

"Hi, Noah…" Brittany laughs. She wasn't actually expecting Santana to put her back on the phone. _Cute_.

"Santana said I should talk to you, again."

"Okay…" the blonde indulges with a smile. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Pancakes!"

Brittany laughs enthusiastically. Noah continues, "Do you like pancakes?"

"I sure do," Brittany responds. "Do _you_ like pancakes?"

"Of course," Noah states matter-of-factly. "Do you know who makes the best pancakes in the world?" Then, before Brittany can answer, adds excitedly, "You have to guess!"

"Okay. Ummmm… does your _mom_ make the best pancakes in the world?"

"She'll say yes, but mine are better."

Brittany spins around at the sound of Santana's voice to see her standing in the doorway.

"Sorry," Santana says with a smile, "I should have knocked."

"No, it's okay," Brittany says, covering the phone with her hand. "I'm just… in the middle of a _very_ important phone call. Do you mind?"

Santana grins at Brittany's feigned serious face. She much prefers it to her actual serious face. This one still has all the warmth of her usual smiley expression. Brittany takes her hand away from the phone but keeps her eyes on Santana. Santana's heart starts to quicken and she feels her nerves creeping back in under the blonde's stare. She wonders where the bravado that brought her downstairs has so suddenly disappeared to.

Brittany smiles at Santana as Noah finishes her lengthy dissertation on pancakes.

"Well, thank you, Noah," she says into the phone, "I shall check my diary and get back to you."

Santana hears Noah giggle on the other end as Brittany says goodbye and hangs up. They smile at each other. Santana is the first to break eye contact, her gaze wandering around the room. She guesses it's an office. There are boxes piled up along the walls and more in the center of the room, burying what could be a desk and a chair. She and Quinn came down here once to explore, when they first moved in, but there wasn't much to see. This room, plus a kind of locker room next door and the empty studio. Santana had briefly considered sneaking a peek at the contents of the mystery owner's boxes but Quinn had shut that down. Maybe less because it was an invasion of someone's privacy and more because it seemed like too much effort. There were _a lot_ of boxes. She realizes now that they are _Brittany's_ boxes. As in, probably full of her personal belongings. Clothes, books… _photos_? If Santana had looked through these boxes five years ago, would she have come across the face of her mystery girl? It seems like such a cruel twist of fate that she can't bear to think about it.

"Apparently, Quinn _does_ make the best pancakes in the world," Brittany interrupts Santana's train of thought in confirmation. "But, I've been invited over to test them for myself," she adds with a wink.

"I'm sorry," Santana blurts out. Brittany looks at her curiously and she continues, "About Noah, I mean. She had my phone and I guess she read your number off my arm."

"At least someone did." She says it with a smile but Santana can see the hurt lingering in her bright blue eyes. It makes her feel horrible.

"I… _I _did. I mean, I was going to call you…"

"It's okay," the blonde offers, reassuringly. "I was just really worried you'd given up on me."

"I had," Santana admits. "A long time ago."

Brittany's heart sinks.

"I really am sorry about that, Santana. I…"

"No, no… please, don't. Turns out I'm the one who owes you an apology. Quinn told me what you did… how you tried to find me."

"You don't need to apologize, Santana. You couldn't have known."

"But, I could have let you explain. I'm sorry I didn't hear you out this afternoon."

She surprises herself by not choking on the words. Apologies have never come easy to her. Perhaps because she's certain that she is always right. In any case, Brittany seems to be turning all of Santana's usual patterns of behavior on their heads. She wonders how someone can make her feel so peaceful and so nervous at the same time.

"Well, _I'm_ sorry I had a shower."

"Huh?" Santana wonders if she missed something.

"That day," she explains. "After you wrote your number on my arm. After we…" Brittany blushes.

"Met," Santana finishes for her with a smile.

"Yeah, after we _met_."

Santana clears her throat and Brittany grins at her. She feels it in the pit of her stomach. Her nerves transform into a whole different kind of excitement. The energy boost helps her shake off some of the inhibitions she never knew she had and take a step towards Brittany. The blonde's grin grows wider, Santana's heart beats faster. She takes a few more steps, bringing the girls to within a few feet of each other. Santana is unsure of what to do now. She knows what she _wants_ to do…

Brittany's brow furrows suddenly in confusion and Santana stops before taking another step.

"How did you know I was down here?"

"Oh... we heard your phone ring from upstairs," Santana explains.

"I didn't realize the floor was so thin. I'll try to keep it down from now on."

"From now on? You're… you're going to be _around_ a lot?"

"Um, a little. Is that okay? I mean, I have all this stuff to go through and—"

"No, no, of course it's okay. It's your place. Um… do you need any help with… anything?"

Brittany throws Santana a cheeky smile, waiting a few moments before answering.

"Hmm, that's very kind of you to offer but I'm sure I'll just end up throwing a lot of it out. To be honest, I don't even remember having this much stuff."

"Well, the offer's there if you change your mind."

"Thanks," Brittany says, flashing Santana another smile. The girls stand wordlessly, a few feet apart, holding each other's gaze. Santana desperately wants move even closer, to say something nice, to brush away the hair that has fallen onto Brittany's face. Instead, she blurts out, "I'd better be getting back upstairs."

"I'm really glad it's you that lives up there," Brittany says with a smirk. "I've been waiting to tell you my name for six years. If you think about it… we never properly _met_."

Santana laughs. Taking in a deep breath, she steps towards Brittany. Brittany raises an eyebrow and Santana swallows hard. She raises her arm.

"I'm Santana…"

Brittany's smile is electric.

"Hi!" she says in delight, taking Santana's outstretched hand. She pauses momentarily for effect. "I'm Brittany."

Santana smiles, shaking Brittany's hand. She wonders if she'll ever get used to the sensation that threatens to overwhelm her each time they touch. She eventually lets go and turns to leave. Pausing in the doorway, she glances back at the blonde.

"Guess I'll see you around, then… _Brittany._"

A playful smirk dances across her face as she turns away again and walks out the door. She is too far away to hear when Brittany whispers her response.

"_Score_."

* * *

Santana wipes the sleep out of her eyes as she groggily shuffles into the kitchen. After all the emotional upheaval (and one killer hang over), she is incredibly grateful for the weekend. She grunts a greeting to Quinn who is sitting at the bench and reaches for the coffee. She pours herself a cup and drinks half of it black before re-filling and adding a little creamer. Settling onto the stool opposite Quinn, she stretches her arms into the air but pauses when she finally notices Noah.

"Banana, what are you doing?"

The girl is standing at the counter on her bright pink step-ladder, covered head to toe in flour, ferociously pushing a wooden spoon back and forth in a large mixing bowl.

"I'm helping Mommy make pancakes!"

Quinn doesn't look up from her newspaper. "You're doing a great job, baby."

"Pancakes, again?" Santana questions. "Quinn, your daughter is obsessed."

"They're not for me, silly," Noah chides. "They're for Brittany!"

Santana looks up from her coffee, an eyebrow raised to Quinn.

"We ran into her yesterday," Quinn offers, as though it explains everything.

"Oh? You didn't mention that."

"Well, you get a bit defensive when I try to talk to you about Brittany, so…"

"I do not!" Santana counters, defensively. Quinn rolls her eyes. "Okay fine," Santana concedes, "but can you blame me? All you do is yell at me for doing things wrong."

"Well, you should have kissed her!"

Santana sighs in frustration. When she had come back upstairs the other day Quinn had been overwhelmingly disappointed that what _she _hadexpected to be a romantic reunion had resulted in nothing but a handshake.

"I told you, it wasn't… appropriate."

"Oh my God, again with _appropriate. _What does that even mean?"

"It means I barely even know her, I couldn't just kiss her."

Their conversation has become a dramatic whisper, neither of them wanting Noah to overhear anything _sensitive_.

"You _barely know her_?" Quinn mimics, incredulously. "Santana, you've had _sex_ with her! Which, might I add, happened within _minutes_ of you meeting!"

Santana is a little taken aback by Quinn's abruptness. Not that she's wrong. It's just hearing it said like that makes it sound so sordid. And that day with Brittany felt anything but.

"That was different. We were young."

"You don't exactly have one foot in the grave, Santana."

"You know what I mean, Q. We're not 17 anymore."

"Exactly. You're a grown up. Do grown up things!"

"I don't even know if she _wants_ me to do grown up things to her. I mean wi_th_ her... I... you know what I mean."

Quinn raises her eyebrows and Santana continues, "You just want to live vicariously through me!"

"Damn right I do!"

"Ya big lez," Santana teases, casting a glance at the junior chef to make sure she can't hear them.

Quinn laughs. "Seriously, though… do _you_ want to do things? I don't just mean 'grown up' things," she says, emphasizing her words with air quotes. "You had real feelings for her once…"

"Did I, though? I mean, how could I… ?"

"Look, Santana. I could crap on about the mysteries of the heart and love at first sight-"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up…"

"Oh, calm down. I'm not saying that you're in love with her, I'm just saying that obviously there was a connection there… and personally I think something as real as that doesn't just disappear because of a few years."

"Maybe not. Honestly, though, I don't know. Yes, she kinda makes me insanely nervous and excited… but, maybe that's just the adrenaline of seeing her again. Maybe it's got nothing to do with a connection. Or maybe it does. But, that isn't a guarantee that she feels it too or that she wants…" Santana trails off, overwhelmed with thoughts. "And there are other factors," she adds. "She only just came back to LA. Is she staying? And she could be seeing someone. I mean, how would we know? God, she's probably seeing someone. She's probably straight!"

Quinn rolls her eyes at Santana for the millionth time, "You're over-thinking it. This is why my plan of just kissing her is brilliant… it's the quickest way to answer all your questions. Except maybe whether or not she's straight."

Santana gives her a questioning look.

"Well, if she is it didn't stop her the first time, did it?" Quinn responds. "And look at you, Santana. How could anyone not want you?"

"Seriously, Quinn… your gay is showing."

Quinn pokes her tongue out playfully. Then, "You just need to relax."

Santana smiles at her friend, wondering momentarily what the hell she would ever do without her.

"I'll try."

She takes in a few deep breaths, feeling herself calm down. As is so often the case, her moment of peace is interrupted by Noah squealing.

"Brittany's here!"

"Wait, what?" Santana jumps off the stool, spilling coffee on herself and cursing loudly.

Noah giggles and Quinn lets it slide. She stands up and offers Santana a cloth, the Latina's eyes frantically searching the apartment.

"She's not in _here_, loser," Quinn laughs. "Listen."

Quinn inclines her head downwards and Santana hears faint music coming up through the floor. She looks over at Noah and the bowls full of batter on the counter top.

"So, before when you said you ran into her yesterday… did you mean you invited her for _breakfast_?" asks Santana, horrified at not having been given any warning.

"No, not exactly. We ran into her outside and when Noah realized she was the Brittany from on the phone, she told her to come over for pancakes. Brittany mentioned she might be around today but it was all pretty vague… I think Noah was planning on cooking all day, just in case."

"Right. So, she _might_ come up?"

"I guess so…"

Santana stares at Quinn for a moment.

"I need to change my top."

* * *

Santana throws her coffee stained tshirt into her laundry hamper and pulls a tank top on over her head. She is about to head back to the kitchen when the music from downstairs catches her attention. Looking over her shoulder, she opens the door onto the mezzanine and quietly steps through. Santana used to come and sit out here with Noah some nights when she was still just a baby to give Quinn some alone time. But, the other day, when she went to find Brittany was the first time she'd been out here in years. You can easily get around the apartment from inside so the only real reason to come out here is to get to the staircase leading down to the studio. Or to look directly down into it from above. A view that currently has her rooted to the spot. The source of the music is an iPod docked in between two small speakers in the corner of the room. Mirrors run wall-to-wall and halfway to the ceiling on two sides. And there, at the center of it all, is Brittany.

Santana's breath catches in her throat as she watches Brittany's reflection, her long legs propelling her effortlessly around the room. She comes to a stop almost directly beneath Santana and falls gracefully to the floor, lifting her arms above her head. Her eyes are closed as she sways rhythmically in perfect time with the music. She pulls her legs underneath her and pushes upwards, spinning herself off the ground. She glides through the air, pirouetting countless times, reaching out for something only she can see. As the blonde dances, Santana holds her breath. It's mesmerizing. Santana doesn't think she has ever seen anything so beautiful, so raw.

"Oh, shit…"

Santana jumps at the sound of Quinn's voice, suddenly right behind her. Quinn smirks at the deer-in-headlights expression on Santana's face before looking back down to Brittany.

"… you're screwed," she laughs.

* * *

**A/N: As always, guys... I really appreciate your feedback. Hope it's not moving to slowly for you?**


	9. Chapter 9

A slight sweat breaks out across Santana's skin. Quinn's right, she is screwed.

"No wonder you had sex with her," Quinn whispers after watching for a moment longer. Santana is lost for words. Brittany's body moves like nothing else she has ever witnessed.

The music comes to an abrupt end and Brittany finishes her performance by collapsing to the ground in slow motion, heavy breaths causing her whole body to shake.

An enthusiastic round of applause from Noah breaks the near silence almost immediately. Santana turns to see her perched in Quinn's arms, having obviously appeared after Santana had turned her attention back to the dance floor. There is a look of sheer delight on her face. Santana's eyes go wide as realization dawns that Noah's display of appreciation will no doubt draw Brittany's attention to them; her _uninvited_ audience. She looks back down in time to meet Brittany's crystal blue eyes. Santana's mouth still hangs slightly agape. The look of surprise on the blonde's face changes slowly when she catches Santana's expression, a knowing smile dancing playfully at the corners of her mouth.

Noah continues to clap and cheer, prompting Brittany to rise to her feet and bend forward in an exaggerated bow. Quinn looks to Santana, who still appears completely dumbstruck.

"Brittany, that was amazing!" Quinn says loudly, to break the ice.

"Thanks!"

"Sorry for spying!" Quinn adds with a smile.

"No problem. I kinda feel like I'm invading _your_ space, anyway… but, I just can't seem to help myself when there's an empty floor, you know?"

"Totally not an invasion," Quinn assures her. "Actually, we were hoping you'd be here. This one has been cooking all morning," she adds, inclining her head towards Noah. "Feel like pancakes?"

Brittany smiles, glancing at a speechless Santana.

"Absolutely."

* * *

"Ohmmgud…" Brittany exclaims, her mouth full of pancake. "Deesareahmaaazing!"

Quinn smiles smugly at Santana, who is leaning against the wall with a cup off coffee in her hand. Brittany looks up at her as she swallows another mouthful.

"Are you not having any?"

"I told you, my pancakes are better. Why would I bother with Quinn's?"

"Whatever," Quinn scoffs.

Santana smirks and takes a sip of her coffee. She is content just watching Brittany sitting at her kitchen bench, wearing sweat pants and a tank top, her hair messily piled on top of her head.

When they had come back into the kitchen a quick survey of the contents of Noah's mixing bowls suggested that the resulting pancakes would probably fall short of anything considered pleasant. Santana had watched in awe as Brittany took Noah into the lounge room to distract her while Quinn whipped up a new batch. The blonde had made sounds of appreciation and encouragement at every dinosaur Noah had waved in front of her but seemed intent on getting one of the untouched plush unicorns from the shelf into the mix. Brittany had poked her tongue out with a wink at a giggling Santana when her attempts inevitably proved futile.

She watches Brittany continue to shovel in mouthfuls of pancake before moving closer to pour herself some more coffee.

"Yours are _better_ than this? Seriously?"

Santana just nods, unable to hold back a cocky smile.

"Well, then… I can't wait until I have you cooking me breakfast."

Santana chokes on her coffee, feeling her cheeks flush a little. She recovers quickly, reaching across the counter and grabbing a piece of pancake from Brittany's plate. She shrugs as she places it in her mouth, letting out a little "meh".

Brittany giggles, her eyes remaining on Santana much longer than necessary.

"Um, Brittany?" Santana questions.

"Yeah?"

"Is that your phone?"

The blonde hadn't noticed the alarm tone coming from her pocket. She giggles again as she pulls out her phone. Santana surreptitiously steals another piece of pancake as the blonde scans her screen.

"Oh shoot!" Brittany exclaims, jumping off her chair. She looks down at her plate, still half full, and frowns.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," she says.

"Are you apologizing to us or the pancakes?" Quinn asks from the sink where she has started cleaning Noah's epic mess, the culprit still playing in the lounge room.

Santana chuckles as Brittany realizes she is frowning at her unfinished meal.

"You!" she laughs, looking up. "I feel like I've just used you for your _amazing_ pancakes," she apologizes, emphasizing the word 'amazing' with an exaggerated grin at Santana. "But, I promised my friend I would meet her downtown… like, now."

"It's alright, go, go…" Quinn waves her hand, turning back to the dishes. "You're welcome over any time."

Brittany smiles as she quickly scoops another forkful of pancakes into her mouth and steps away from the bench, almost colliding with Santana. Santana's hand instinctively lands on Brittany's waist and the blonde swallows her mouthful quickly. Their faces are inches apart. Santana clears her throat and moves back a little, stepping aside to let Brittany pass. Off the back of Quinn's last words, Brittany lets a cheeky grin spread across her face.

"Guess I'll see you around, then… _Santana_."

She passes Santana and pats Quinn on the shoulder in thanks. Santana drops down onto the stool Brittany had been sitting on and listens as Brittany says goodbye to Noah in the lounge room, thanking her for the pancakes. When the sound of the door closing tells her Brittany is gone, she lets out a huff and buries her face in her hands.

Quinn looks up from her cleaning and chuckles, shaking her head.

"_Screwed_," she reiterates.

* * *

Santana dangles her feet over the arm of the sofa, kicking her legs in time with the music. As much as she loves Quinn and Noah, she relishes the rare occasions that she has the apartment to herself. Mostly because it means she can listen to something other than the Wiggles.

She closes her eyes and lets her mind wander. It doesn't go far. The image of Brittany dancing has barely left her thoughts since yesterday.

"_I just really like to dance, so…" _

She thinks of that day, all those years ago, when she had met Brittany. Intriguing, sexy and completely unexpected. Not to mention, half naked. Santana smiles. She has had this one memory of Brittany for five years, so she finds it very surreal that she suddenly has new ones.

_She found herself trying to picture what this girl might look like while she danced…_

She didn't have to use her imagination now. She had seen it with her own eyes. And it was amazing. The beat of the music kicks in and Santana drifts further into her memories, old and new, images of Brittany filling her mind and spreading warmth and excitement through her veins. _Like a drug_.

She is yanked from her daydream by a knock at the door. Letting out a small huff of annoyance, she slowly pulls herself off the sofa. She takes her time walking the few yards to the door, hoping that whoever was rude enough to interrupt her thoughts might give up and leave by the time she gets there. Opening the door, she is suddenly glad that her plan didn't work

"Brittany…" she says, unable to contain both her surprise and delight.

"Hi," the blonde beams back.

"I was just…" she stops herself. _Oh, fuck it._ "I was just thinking about you."

"Oh yeah?" Brittany smiles cheekily.

Santana wills herself not to blush, smiling warmly back at Brittany.

"Did you want to come in?" she asks, stepping aside ever so slightly.

"Actually… no," she says, Santana's smile faltering. "You know the other day when you asked me if I needed help with anything?"

"Yeah?"

"I was hoping to take you up on the offer… if it still stands?"

"Oh..." Santana responds, surprised. "Yeah, absolutely. What can I do for you?"

Brittany grins.

* * *

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind, Brittany. I mean, I thought I'd just be lugging some boxes for you or something."

"But, this is way more fun… right?"

"That remains to be seen."

Brittany laughs.

"Seriously, I haven't done anything like this in years... since school, really."

"It's like riding a bike. Besides, your body moves well… naturally. This should be a piece of cake."

Santana shivers at the thought of Brittany noticing how her body moves… naturally. She is standing in the center of Brittany's studio, trying not to stare as the blonde bends down to find a song on her iPod.

"I'm used to choreographing for just me," Brittany explains to Santana, as she cues up the music, "or for larger groups. Figuring out a contemporary waltz for two people is kinda new territory."

She walks over to Santana, who is attempting to stretch. Or something.

"So, you're doing this for… who did you say? Your boss?"

"Well, she's a friend really… but, yeah, I work for her sometimes."

"So, shouldn't she be able to choreograph her own wedding waltz thing? I mean, you work as a dancer, right? Wouldn't that make her a dancer, too?"

"Not exactly."

Brittany smiles and bends forward from the hips, placing her palms flat on the ground. Santana feels slightly embarrassed that only moments ago she had done the same thing… and barely reached her ankles.

"I was figuring out the steps from the male- well, from the _lead_ point of view but couldn't really tell if it would work," Brittany continues. "Then it dawned on me…" she says, swinging herself back to an upright position and meeting Santana's gaze. "I needed a bride."

"And… and you thought of me?"

"Straight away."

Santana's heart skips a beat and she lets out an involuntary noise. It could pass for a laugh. Kind of. Brittany beams at her.

"Ready?" she says, walking back over to the iPod and pressing play.

"I guess so," Santana sighs.

Brittany chuckles as she turns back to Santana. "Just relax," she says, gliding delicately back to the center of the room. She spins herself around a couple of times, coming to a stop directly in front of Santana.

Santana takes in a deep breath, her attention leaving Brittany for long enough to recognize the song she has put on. She rolls her eyes.

"_Please _tell me this wasn't your choice?"

Brittany laughs. "No," she says, "this one came from the happy couple." She takes Santana's left hand in her right and wraps her other arm around Santana's waist.

Santana freezes.

"Put your hand on my shoulder," Brittany laughs.

"Right, sorry."

"And let me lead."

"No issue there."

Brittany smiles and leans in close so her lips are an inch from Santana's ear.

"Left foot first," she whispers, pulling Santana to her.

"Yours or mine?" Santana whispers back.

Brittany explodes with laughter as she pushes Santana backwards. Santana expects to stumble or fall but instead feels herself moving effortlessly across the floor, Brittany's strong arms guiding her in large circles around the room. She holds her breath, and Brittany's gaze, feeling weightless and heavy at the same time. The music steals her attention momentarily and she pauses, causing Brittany to stand on her foot.

"Okay, you've gotta help a little bit," Brittany smiles.

"I'm sorry, I can't concentrate…" Santana responds with a giggle. "This song!"

"What do you mean? It's beauuuutiful!" Brittany says with a generous dose of melodrama. A mischievous smile creeps across her face.

"_Oooh, my favorite line_…" she begins to sing, "…_was 'Can I call you sometime?'_"

Santana chokes on a laugh. Brittany keeps singing as she continues to lead them around the studio.

"_It's all you had to say… to take my breath away_…"

Brittany grips Santana around the waist tightly and bends forward, dipping her backwards slowly. They hover in mid air for a split second before Brittany pulls them back up and raises their arms, quickly spinning Santana twice on the spot.

"_This is it!_" Brittany sings at the top of her lungs.

"_Oh!_" Santana busts out suddenly, the girls now singing in unison, "_I finally found someone..._"

Brittany's eyes go wide but she doesn't miss a step. Santana allows Brittany full control and lets herself be swept around the room. She closes her eyes and continues to sing, not noticing that Brittany is not singing with her.

"_Someone to share my life, I finally found the one_…"

She stops and her eyes shoot open as she is pulled into Brittany, who wraps both arms across her back and drops her down in low arc. When Brittany pulls her back up, they are pressed so tightly against one another that she's sure she can feel the other girl's heartbeat. Brittany exhales next to Santana's ear.

"Keep singing," she says, her voice low and husky.

Brittany gently puts some space between her and Santana, taking her left hand and spinning herself under their arms. Bringing them face to face again she places her left hand on Santana's waist. She squeezes gently, guiding Santana in wide arcs from corner to corner, as the brunette picks up the melody.

"_Cause whatever I do, it's just got to be you_."

Brittany spins her away and draws her back in.

"_My life has just begun_…"

She turns them around and around with graceful flourishes and gentle force.

"_I finally found someone_…"

With another spin, they come to stop in the middle of the room, both girls panting softly. Brittany runs her fingertips down the length of Santana's arms. She takes hold of Santana's hands and guides them upwards, wrapping them around her own neck.

Santana's heart threatens to break right through her chest. A distantly familiar shiver runs through her from head to toe. Brittany holds them there for a moment before placing both her hands at the small of Santana's back, leaving only inches between them. They begin move again, Santana's legs impossibly keeping time with the music. And Brittany.

"_Did I keep you waiting?" _she sings.

Brittany comes in with the next line, _"I didn't mind..."_

"_I apologize…" _Santana continues, a lump forming in her throat.

"_Baby, that's fine…"_

Then, together, _"I will wait forever just to know you are mine…"_

Brittany closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Santana's heart lodges itself in her throat. She stops singing as Brittany's commanding arms lose their tension. They let the music carry them, the song continuing as they move as one in the middle of the room.

_This is it…_

_Oh, I've finally found someone_

_Someone to share my life_

_I've finally found the one_

_To be with every night_

Santana wraps her arms tighter around Brittany's neck. Their bodies are fixed against each other and their dance has become nothing more than a rhythmic sway from side to side. Brittany's hands move gently up and down Santana's back, as she leans in slightly so their foreheads are almost touching. She exhales softly and Santana feels the warmth of it touch her lips.

_Cause whatever I do_

_It's just got to be you_

_Oh yeah, my life is just begun_

_I've finally found someone_

Santana feels safe and warm, nervous and calm, terrified and excited. There is a heaviness in the pit of her stomach, a throbbing at her core and a tingling in her lips. Her heart is warm and comfortable. As they continue to sway, Brittany's eyes bore into her, crystal blue and filled with invitation. The tension of desire hangs in what little space there is left between them. But, for Santana, the desire for more is overpowered by a desperate need to hold onto this perfect moment for as long as possible. She presses into Brittany even more and lowers her head, resting it upon the taller girl's shoulder.

_And whatever I do_

_It's just got to be you_

_My life has just begun_

_I finally found someone_

Santana sighs with contentment, her heartbeat keeping time with the subtle movement of her feet.

"Santana?" Brittany whispers into her ear.

Santana's eyes shoot open, her attention snapping back to the room around her. The _silent _room. She lifts her head from Brittany's shoulder.

"The music has stopped," the blonde tells her softly.

Santana lets out a slightly embarrassed giggle.

"That song is so cheesy," she says.

"Yet, you know all the words," Brittany teases.

"So do you!" Santana shouts, with a little more embarrassment and quite a bit of force. It brings their attention to the fact they are still holding each other rather tightly. Santana reluctantly moves away.

"I've had it on repeat, trying to choreograph this dance," Brittany laughs. "What's your excuse?"

"Did I… I mean, did it help?" Santana says, changing the subject. "Do you think it will work well, for your friends?"

"Yeah, I think so," she says, with a smile.

Santana's memory brushes over some of the moves that Brittany had pulled out, bringing her right along for the ride.

"I don't know how you do that," she says, gesturing vaguely around the room.

"Um… I'm a dancer. It's what I do."

Santana laughs at Brittany's seemingly genuine confusion.

"No, I know. I just mean… you're…" she pauses, inhaling deeply. "I had no idea you could dance like _that_."

"Well, I had no idea you could _sing… _like _that_!"

Santana drops her eyes to the floor instantly.

"Santana, your voice-"

"I had fun," Santana blurts out, looking back up at Brittany. "I'm so glad I could be of assistance." She smiles a little too enthusiastically and holds out her hand, which Brittany shakes with a curious smile.

"The pleasure was all mine, ma'am," she says, bowing slightly and doffing an imaginary hat with her free hand.

They stand like that for what feels like minutes, just holding hands and smiling at each other. The moment is interrupted by the distant sound of Quinn's voice, coming from upstairs.

"Santana? Are you home?" she calls out.

Santana smiles at Brittany and let's go of her hand.

"That's my cue," she says with a hint of disappointment. Brittany takes a step towards her but she turns away and heads for the stairs.

"Hey?" Brittany calls after her.

Santana turns back around.

"Thank you," Brittany offers, her voice rich with warmth and gratitude.

"Any time."

Santana adds a wink before making her way up the staircase and onto the mezzanine. Just as she steps through the door into her bedroom, her attention is drawn back downstairs by the opening bars of _I Finally Found Someone._

"I'm going to hold you to that!" Brittany shouts, over the music, as Santana closes the door behind her, a huge grin spreading across her face.

* * *

"You've got to be fucking kidding me? Another fucking _handshake_?"

"Give me a break, Quinn."

Santana had regretted relaying the details of her afternoon with Brittany to Quinn almost as soon as she'd opened her mouth.

"I can't," Quinn responds. "I'm sorry, but I just don't understand… that was, like, the _perfect_ moment."

"Exactly."

Quinn squints at Santana in confusion. "You've lost me."

"It_ was_ perfect," she explains. "I didn't want to… ruin it."

"By kissing her?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that makes complete sense."

Santana rolls her eyes at Quinn's sarcasm, frustrated by the entire conversation. How is she supposed to explain the desperation she felt? The overwhelming need to hold onto Brittany and never let her go. Dancing with her today was a kind of special that she hasn't experienced since… well, since the fateful day they met.

_She pressed her lips against the other girl's and held there for a moment, desperate to commit the feeling to memory._

"Okay, what's really going on, S?" Quinn asks after a few moments.

"You remember what happened last time I kissed her."

"Yeah, you ended up having a lot of awesome sex… I don't see the problem here."

"And _then_ what happened?"

"Santana…" Quinn says softly.

"She disappeared."

"You're scared of kissing her because why? You think you're going to wake up the next day and she'll be gone?"

"I know it sounds stupid…"

"Because it _is_ stupid. Santana, you said it yourself; things _are_ different now. You know her name, for one," she jokes, gently. "And you live in the same city… in _her_ apartment. It's going to be pretty tough for her to disappear, again."

Santana looks down, absentmindedly fidgeting with a napkin. Quinn leans across the bench and takes Santana's hands.

"Honey, look at me."

Santana looks up and sighs.

"Do you want her?"

She nods.

"Well, the Santana that I know always gets what she wants. Because she knows that she can."

"I don't know with her. She's… special."

"So are you, Santana."

Santana smiles.

"I just wish I could see the future, you know?" she says, earnestly. "I wish I knew how this was all going to play out."

"Where's the fun in that?" Quinn asks with a smile. "Seriously, Santana… isn't being surprised half the fun of getting to know someone?"

"Trust me, there's plenty of that. Her eyes, her smile… it's all a surprise, every time."

Quinn smiles.

"You know who used to constantly surprise _me_?"

"Who?"

"You," she says, her eyes full of affection and sincerity. "You know the other day when you asked me if I remembered what you were like before we left Ohio?"

"Yeah?"

"Do _you_? You say you were miserable – and I don't doubt that you were – but you were also incredibly brave."

Santana looks at Quinn with a hint of doubt in her eyes.

"It took real courage to do what you did, Santana. I know you think that you ran away… but the truth is; you saved our lives. I don't know when you stopped believing in all the amazing things that you are capable of, but I never have. I know you're scared and unsure of a lot of things. But, you were back then, too. And you took the risk, anyway."

Santana blinks away a couple of tears and squeezes Quinn's hands. She stands, looking into her friend's eyes and shaking her head.

"I'm going to owe you for that, aren't I?"

Quinn's smile reaches her eyes.

"You're welcome."

* * *

"You knew I was here this time, didn't you?"

Brittany turns around to look up at Santana, who is watching her from the mezzanine with slightly less of an awed expression on her face than last time. But, only slightly.

"Maybe," Brittany replies with a cheeky grin.

"It's looking really good," Santana says as she makes her way down the staircase.

Brittany grabs a towel and wipes her neck and forehead, before shutting off the iPod as it launches into its 12th repeat of the song. She meets Santana as she reaches the middle of the studio floor.

"Thanks," she smiles, "but I can't take all the credit. I had some help earlier."

"Well, whoever it was that helped you must be a bit rusty. I think there's something missing."

"Oh yeah?" Brittany says.

"Yeah."

Santana reaches forward and takes Brittany's towel from her hand, tossing it aside and stepping closer to the blonde. Without breaking eye contact, she takes Brittany's right hand in her left and wraps her free arm around her waist.

"Put you hand on my shoulder," she says with mock authority, "and let _me_ lead."

Brittany laughs and obliges willingly. Santana begins twirling them around the room with exaggerated and clumsy steps.

"Santana," Brittany laughs, almost uncontrollably, "there's no music."

"Sshh," Santana reprimands, "no talking."

She continues to spin Brittany around and around as they stand on each other's feet repeatedly. The girls are almost in hysterics when Santana finally brings them to a standstill. They breathe heavily against one another, very little space between them. Brittany sighs as the last round of laughter filters through her.

"You were right," she pants, beaming at Santana, "that _was_ an improvement."

"Not actually what I was talking about," Santana responds, suddenly tightening her grip around Brittany's waist.

The blonde lets out a small gasp. The anticipation, which would usually have her frozen with nerves, makes Santana burn with excitement and desire. Her heart pounds dramatically and she waits, letting her eyes drop slightly to watch Brittany's chest rise and fall against her. Suddenly, Brittany's fingers claw into her back and she looks up, a subtle pleading in the blonde's eyes. She smiles wickedly and leans in the last couple of inches, the weight of the last 6 years falling to the ground. She breathes softly against Brittany's mouth and whispers, "I've missed you," before pressing their lips together.

* * *

**A/N: The song... watch?v=LaXjRKAUyYo**


	10. Chapter 10

Everything stops. Or slows down. Or just gets really quiet. Something like that. She can't be sure. All she knows is that the entire world falls away and all that is left is this moment. She holds her breath as she presses her lips a little harder against Brittany's. The blonde lets out a soft moan, wrapping her arms completely around Santana's neck. It surprises Santana, how familiar the feeling of Brittany is. Her taste, her warmth, the way she smiles against her lips. The sensation causes a warm shiver to run through her entire body as she takes a deep breath in, pulling Brittany closer. Their hearts seems to be racing each other, their hands mimicking the subtle urgency. Santana releases the pressure slightly, taking Brittany's top lip between her own. She digs her fingers into Brittany's back and hums into her mouth. Brittany's fingers tense in her hair, pulling her head back slightly.

"Santana…" Brittany breathes.

"Mmmm?" Santana responds with a smile.

Brittany pulls away even further, making Santana open her eyes. She is met with the sky blue of Brittany's, full of warmth and desire. They stand like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, their faces only inches apart.

"I…" Brittany starts, but doesn't have the chance to finish.

"Wow… that's kinda hot."

Both girls' heads snap up, Brittany letting go of Santana instantly.

"Jason…"

Santana feels the abrupt loss of Brittany's closeness as though one of her limbs has been cut off. She is suddenly off balance. And cold.

The man who the voice belongs to saunters over to them with a small but slightly unsettling smile on his face. Santana dislikes him already.

"Hey, Britt. Am I interrupting something…?" he asks, obviously well aware that he is.

_Britt…? _Santana isn't sure why it rubs her the wrong way, but it does. The familiarity of it makes her squirm uncomfortably.

"Jason, this is Santana," Brittany says, an uncharacteristic solemnity in her voice, "… um… from upstairs. Santana, this is Jason… the groom's brother."

"Among many other things," Jason says, offering his hand to Santana with a smirk. She doesn't take it. He is standing very close to Brittany. Too close. She feels her heart clench and the shiver that runs through her body now is anything but warm.

"So, you know each other well?" Jason asks Brittany, after an uncomfortable few moments of silence.

"Um…" Brittany mumbles, not even a hint of a smile on her face. It's disconcerting for Santana. The truth is, she _doesn't _know Brittany well. At least, not in the conventional sense. But, she has spent enough time looking at the almost constant smile on Brittany's face to at least know what it means when there isn't one. Brittany is not happy. And _that_ does not play well with Santana.

"We've known each other since high school," she offers without looking at Jason, her eyes remaining on the blonde.

"Right," Brittany confirms, snapping out of her speechlessness. "We were both cheerleaders… Santana was just helping me with the wedding dance."

Santana nods and watches Brittany move even further away from her. She feels her heart drop as she steps away herself.

"Well, isn't that lovely," Jason says, his smirk wavering ever-so-slightly. "Why don't you show it to me?"

"Oh, um…" Brittany looks to Santana, who is already half way to the staircase.

"What a shame," Santana says, without glancing back at Brittany, "I can't… gots to go."

"A shame, indeed," Jason says, turning all his attention back to Brittany, who shifts awkwardly on the spot.

"Santana, wait…"

"Nah, it's cool. I really do have to go."

She is up the stairs and through her door in record time, not daring to chance a look back to the studio. Her head is suddenly full of noise, a stark contrast from the peaceful reverie she was feeling only minutes ago in Brittany's arms. She collapses into a heap on her bed, lacking the energy to make sense of anything that happened downstairs. All she can manage is to curl up into a ball and bury her face in a pillow, slowly drifting off to sleep before the tears come.

* * *

"Santana?"

She stirs at the sound of her name. Opening her eyes, her brow furrows slightly as she gathers her bearings. Quinn is perched delicately on the side of her bed, a gentle hand resting on her arm.

"Sorry," she says softly, "I didn't know if I should wake you. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, why?" Santana responds, her voice still croaky from sleep. "Do I not look okay?"

Quinn chuckles, "You look fine. You're just not really one to take a nap, unless you're sick."

"Yeah, I guess I was just really tired. Thanks for checking on me," she says, rolling her neck from side to side as she sits up.

"Actually, I didn't even think you were home."

Santana raises an eyebrow.

"You make it a habit of coming into my room when you think I'm not here?" she jokes.

"I tried calling you from the store to see if you were going to be home for dinner and figured you were still with Brittany when I didn't get an answer," she explains. "But then I saw your phone on the kitchen bench when I got back…"

She hands the phone to Santana, the display showing Quinn's missed call… and _six_ from Brittany. Santana's whole body deflates.

"What happened?" Quinn asks gently, being careful not to push. She expects Santana to respond defensively, or at least dismissively, so she almost falls off the bed when the brunette dives into her arms, letting out a deep sob.

She has seen Santana cry a thousand times. Often when she's drunk, occasionally when she's reading or watching a movie. In their first year away from Ohio, both of them cried a lot… mostly for Puck. But, looking back, maybe a little for the loss of something else, too. Their innocence, perhaps? Their childhood. But, the last couple of days have shown Quinn a side of Santana that she's never seen. Knowing her best friend as well as she does, she can only conclude that this vulnerability comes directly from Brittany.

She lets Santana take her time, gently stroking her hair as she cries freely into her shoulder. Eventually, Santana lifts her head and wipes her eyes, giving Quinn a small smile of gratitude. She inhales deeply, allowing the much needed catharsis to spread right through her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yes," Santana says. "With wine."

* * *

"Banana, don't touch that."

"But, I'm bored."

"I know, honey, but I can't play with you right now. Why don't you go find Dave?"

"Can I?" Noah sits up, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Yeah, sure. But, your mom will be back soon so don't let him lose you, again."

Noah giggles as she jumps down from Santana's desk.

"He didn't lose me, silly! We were playing Hide 'N Seek!"

"Yes, but you are the _best ever _at hiding," Santana says affectionately, "So the whole office ended up having to seek."

Noah runs down the hallway towards the control room, calling out for Dave in a happy singsong.

"She's got good tone, we should get her into the studio," says Randy as he approaches Santana's desk.

As far as bosses go, Randy isn't too bad. He can get a little stressed and uptight, but he doesn't grate on Santana as much as most people do so she likes him well enough. Plus, on the odd occasion that Quinn needs Santana to watch Noah during the day, he lets her hang around the office.

"Well, even at 5 years old she could certainly give some of our clients a run for their money," Santana jokes back.

"True," Randy sighs, all too aware that not everyone that comes into his recording studio has the talent to warrant them being there. From the way he fusses over their next client, however, Santana guesses that this is not one of those cases.

"So, as you know, we had our new VIP in for her first session last week and her manager just called to tell me that she's on her way back in right now," Randy explains, "So, I'm leaving you in charge of making sure she has anything and everything she needs."

"Sure," Santana says, somewhat nonchalantly.

"I mean it, Santana. _Anything_ she wants."

Randy is clearly taken with their new client. Santana decides that she must be really hot or really rich. Money and women are Randy's two favorite things. In that order. She chuckles to herself.

"Wow, Randy… do you need a moment?"

Usually at this point Randy would say something crude but he doesn't get a chance, momentary panic setting in as a car pulls up outside.

"Just fix all that, would you?"

He motions to a stack of boxes and magazines behind her desk that Noah has forged into some kind of fort. She turns around to tidy up, hearing the front door open behind her. Randy goes into full on charm mode, Santana rolling her eyes to herself as he greets the client.

"It's so lovely to see you again, Miss Berry."

Santana freezes.

"I told you, please call me…"

"Rachel."

The name is out of Santana's mouth before she can stop herself. She turns slowly to face the woman, who is wearing an expression of shock that she imagines is much like her own.

"Oh my god. _Santana_?"

They stare at each other in silence for a moment before Randy chimes in, bewildered.

"You two _know_ each other?"

Santana hesitates, only slightly. "We went to high school together."

"Yeah, until you-"

"Wow, Rachel!" Santana cuts her off with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, "I can't believe it's you!"

She comes out from behind her desk and gives Rachel a hug. Unsurprisingly, it's incredibly awkward. But, Rachel understands. She breaks the embrace and turns to Randy.

"Randy, would you be a doll and make sure there is plenty of bottled water in the studio for me?"

Randy obliges, albeit begrudgingly. Usually that would be Santana's job but he doesn't want to risk annoying Rachel Berry. As soon as he is out of earshot, Rachel turns back to Santana.

"Oh my god, Santana!" she exclaims again, slapping Santana firmly on the arm. "Not that it's not amazing to see you but, what the hell are you doing here? What happened to you? It's so surreal running into you like this, after all these years. Have you been in LA this whole time? Do you know how many stories went around Lima about you and Quinn after you disappeared? You two kinda became like a local urban legend."

Santana scrunches her nose as she rubs her arm. It didn't hurt at all but she feels uncomfortable and affronted by Rachel's… Rachelness.

"You know some people actually thought that you had gone psycho and kidnapped Quinn?" she continues. "Then there were all the rumors that she was pregnant. And for a while the story was that you'd been sent to juvie for trying to steal her baby. Which, when you consider the time line, totally doesn't make sense. I mean, I never believed any of it, anyway. Eventually everyone just accepted that you'd run away from home and probably ended up working at a diner somewhere in Middle America."

Quinn and Santana had been on the road for two days before they realized they should probably tell _someone_ that they were okay. Two teenage girls disappearing without a trace would have undoubtedly lead to some kind of investigation, so they decided to make one phone call. Funnily enough, they _had_ stopped at a diner somewhere in Middle America to do it. They had argued over _who_ to call, finally settling on Emma Pilsbury, the McKinley High guidance councilor. They didn't tell her where they were going or why, only that they were okay and that they wouldn't be coming back. She promised she would pass the information on to all the appropriate parties. Apparently being so vague about the whole thing had provided a fun game for the residents of Lima.

"So?" Rachel raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"Oh, um… pretty much the last one. Except obviously we ended up in California."

"Why did you leave in the first place?"

Santana can hear her mother's harsh words somewhere in the back of her mind, but the image that pops into her head is of Quinn, lying in her hospital bed with a broken heart. Her own heart clenches at the memory as she opens her mouth to speak, not sure what to say… _how much_ to say. Suddenly, Noah comes running in and she realizes she doesn't need to say anything at all.

"Tana, hide meeeeee!" the child squeals as she leaps into Santana's arms.

Santana catches her and smiles as she buries her face in Santana's neck with a joyful giggle. Santana looks back to Rachel, whose jaw is practically on the ground, the look of surprise and recognition blatantly plastered on her face. Noah looks so much like her mother, there's no need for words.

"Banana, do you wanna come out from in there for a second and meet Auntie Tana's friend?"

Noah lifts her head up and glances around dramatically. When she's sure that Dave is nowhere near she squirms in Santana's arms until she is facing Rachel, a giant smile on her face. Rachel's eyes widen a little more. _That smile_.

"This is Rachel," Santana tells her, "She went to school with me and your mom."

Noah sticks out her hand and Rachel composes herself, stepping forward to shake it with a smile.

"Rachel," Santana continues, "this is Noah."

Rachel's smile falters, the lump in her throat forming almost instantly. She looks at Santana, a single tear prefacing the question in her eyes. Santana nods and smiles gently. Rachel wipes the tear away quickly and smiles again at Noah.

"It's nice to meet you," Noah whispers.

Rachel fights with everything she has not to completely fall apart.

"Likewise," she says finally. "Noah… that's a really beautiful name."

"It was my daddy's name," the girl says with a proud smile.

"I know," Rachel says, mostly to herself, her heart struggling to keep going.

Even though there had been rumours that Quinn was pregnant, Rachel realizes she never really thought about the implications. Maybe because she didn't believe it. Maybe because Quinn and Puck had been so on and off during their senior year that she didn't really consider his part in the whole thing. She had grieved for Puck and the tragedy of someone losing their life at such a young age. It had never occurred to her, though, that he left behind a daughter.

"Mommy!"

Santana and Rachel both turn towards the large glass doors at the front of the building as Noah wriggles herself free from Santana's arms and drops to the floor. She runs over and reaches the doors just in time to hold one open for her mom.

"Aw thank you, baby," Quinn says, crouching down to give Noah a cuddle.

"Your friend is here," Noah tells her.

"What friend?"

"Hi, Quinn."

She doesn't need to look up; she knows the voice. And she's not the only one. Rachel Berry's voice is pretty much considered a national treasure these days. She thinks to herself, however, that she's sure she would have recognized it anyway. Five years suddenly feels like 5 days. She stands up, her heart involuntarily skipping a few beats.

"Hi, Rachel."

* * *

"Santana, your phone is ringing!" Quinn screams down the hall. "Again!"

"Who is it?"

Quinn glances at the phone and shakes her head, "Who do you think?"

Santana eventually comes into the kitchen, paying no attention to her phone.

"That's the third time she's called since you got home. Maybe you should just talk to her."

"_Maybe _we should go back to me _not_ taking your advice when it comes to Brittany."

And there is that finality in her voice, again. Conversation over.

"Anyway," she deflects, "I want you to tell me about your date!"

Quinn sighs in resignation.

"It was nice. I'm glad it was just coffee, though… I don't think I'm quite ready for dinner or anything, yet. It's been a long time since I've been out with a guy. But, he's going to call me, so…"

Santana had minded Noah at work today so Quinn could have coffee with a guy she had met the day before. She usually doesn't do that kind of thing but she had decided she was being a bit of a hypocrite, telling Santana to take risks, when she never does it herself.

"I'm not talking about what's-his-face," Santana teases, "I'm talking about Rachel."

Quinn rolls her eyes, "Shut up."

Santana chuckles.

"I mean it, Q. Coffee with some guy seems pretty lame compared to being invited to sit in while _Rachel Berry_ records tracks for her new album. That's much more romantic."

"Yeah, if you're wearing gay goggles," Quinn jokes, poking out her tongue.

"Always," Santana smirks back.

"We were just catching up, Santana. I know you never really _got_ her but Rachel and I were kind of friends once."

"Yes, I know. _Friends_. I'm still waiting for that story."

Quinn laughs and shakes her head. Santana pouts, leaning over the counter.

"Pleeeeeeeease?" she begs.

"Okay…" Quinn says, her well-practiced mischievous smile not going unnoticed by Santana. The Latina narrows her eyes at Quinn, waiting for the catch. "But, you have to do something for me first," Quinn continues. She picks up Santana's phone and places it in front of her. "Call. Brittany."

Santana groans, "This again? Why are you pushing it, Q?"

"Because I'm sick of listening to your fucking ringtone. And something tells me she's not going to stop calling. All the schools in Ohio, remember?"

"I don't know what to say to her."

"Doesn't matter. She's the one who keeps calling you, obviously _she_ has something to say."

"Yeah... 'sorry my smarmy-ass boyfriend walked in on us like that'…" Santana grumbles.

"That's not what she's going to say, Santana."

"Well, why else would she back off the way she did?"

"I have no idea!" Quinn responds. "And before you say anything else… Neither. Do. You. And you won't until you talk to her. Please."

"Berry story first?" Santana asks hopefully.

"After."

Santana snatches her phone off the counter and shoots Quinn an insolent frown.

"Fine," she huffs as she heads towards her room.

* * *

"Santana?"

The phone had barely even rung before she heard Brittany's voice on the other end.

"Hey," she says softly, allowing her to hear Brittany's heavy sigh of relief.

"I was so worried you'd given up on me, again."

"Should I _not_?"

"What? No, of course not," Brittany says, her voice quivering slightly. "Santana I'm so sorry if I upset you yesterday. I honestly didn't mean to. I was having a really good time until stupid Jason turned up."

"He's… he's not your boyfriend?"

"No, he's just…" she pauses, hearing Santana's breath catch, "... he can be a real pig. I didn't want him to see us together like that, to give him something to be rude to you about. But, I should have just told him to leave. I'm so sorry."

It's Santana's turn to breathe a sigh of relief.

"It's okay, Brittany," she says, reassuringly. "I'm sorry I just walked out the way I did. I was having a good time, too."

"Really?"

Santana melts completely at the sound of Brittany's smile.

"Really," she confirms warmly.

"In that case, what do you say we try it again?"

Santana laughs as her heart starts to quicken in a way that is becoming very familiar.

"Name the time and place," she says, her voice a little husky.

"Um, does here and now work for you?"

There is a tap at her door and Santana looks up to see Brittany standing out on the mezzanine. The sight makes her heart dance. She drops the phone and walks over to the door, sliding it open and offering Brittany her hand. She takes it and steps happily into the room. Barely having the patience to wait for Santana to close the door, she dances excitedly on the spot as she takes in her surroundings. Santana turns around and smiles at her.

They practically fall into each other, Santana's arms wrapping around Brittany in an instant. She closes her eyes and lifts herself up slightly onto her toes, feeling the warmth of Brittany's breath become closer. She pauses there for a moment, waiting for Brittany to close the gap. It's her turn to lead, after all. It only takes a moment, but it's enough to make Santana's head swim. Brittany smiles into the kiss and wraps her arms tightly around Santana's shoulders, sending a rush of excited expectation through both of them. There isn't the same sense of urgency this time; their kisses are calm and assured. Brittany presses firmly into Santana before pulling away slightly.

"Santana?"

"Mmmm?"

"I've missed you, too."


	11. Chapter 11

"QUINN!"

"I heard you the first time," Quinn says as she enters Santana's room, "You could have given me a chance to walk the 4 feet across the hall before you started screaming like a maniac."

She is teasing, but stops when she has a chance to take in the sight in front of her. Santana is pacing frantically back and forth, wearing nothing but a pair of short shorts and a matching black bra, the mountain of clothes on her bed reaching half way to the ceiling. She looks up at Quinn, her eyes wild with anxiety.

"I don't have anything to wear!"

Quinn can't help but let out a small chuckle.

"Santana, there is an entire department store on your bed."

"It's all crap," she says, shaking her head.

"Since when?" Quinn asks, already knowing the answer. Since _Brittany_.

"Will you just fucking help me? Please?"

Santana motions towards her closet as she resumes pacing. Quinn shakes her head and starts flipping through the handful of hanging items that have managed to avoid being flung across the room.

"So, it's an proper _date _date?"

"Apparently so," Santana smiles, "Brittany said she wanted to be a _gentleman_ this time around."

"As opposed to seducing you in a classroom without even telling you her name?"

Santana pokes her tongue out at Quinn, who continues to rifle through the Latina's clothes. Suddenly she stops, her eyes catching a flash of red.

"Oh my god, I've found the perfect thing," she says, reaching into the back of the closet. "Why do you even still have this?"

She pulls out an old Cheerios uniform and Santana's cheeks flush instantly.

"Wanky…" Quinn smirks.

"Don't be an asshole. It has… _sentimental_ value," Santana sneers, snatching the uniform from Quinn. "And that's _my_ line."

Quinn laughs.

"Are you telling me you didn't keep yours?" Santana continues.

"I only kept what you threw in _your_ bag for me, S. You kidnapped me off the street without warning, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Santana says in apology, offering the uniform back to Quinn with a raised eyebrow.

"That's okay," she says, shaking her head, "You might… _need _it. Later."

Santana rolls her eyes, "Not tonight. I've got a date with a gentleman."

"Well, then you're right… that counts out half your wardrobe."

"What? Why?"

"Because Brittany can't be expected to keep her hands off you if you wear any of these," Quinn says, picking a number of dresses from the floor. She places them on the pile and turns to Santana.

"Don't you own _anything_ that's loose-fitting?"

Santana smirks like a guilty child. Quinn shakes her head.

"I don't know how it is that you don't get yourself into trouble more often," she says, shoving half the clothes mountain onto the floor.

"Actually, the tight dresses are how I get myself _out _of trouble," Santana says, wiggling her eyebrows.

With another shake of her head, Quinn throws Santana a pair of jeans and a fitted flannel shirt.

"This is really fucking gay, Quinn…"

Quinn just raises her eyebrows.

"You have a point."

* * *

"Do you want some more popcorn?" Brittany asks, waving her half empty box in front of Santana.

"No thanks," she replies, smiling at the abundance of food on Brittany's lap, "I'm still stuffed."

"I usually get a lot of snacks," Brittany explains. "I like to have something to do with my hands while I watch movies."

"Me too," Santana says and, in an instant, she feels Brittany's fingers intertwine with her own. Her heart jumps in surprise and she kicks her feet up onto the back of the empty seat in front of her.

The whole cinema is empty, in fact.

"Do you usually show up hours before the movie is scheduled to start, too?" Santana teases.

Brittany pokes out her bottom lip as she looks up from her snack collection.

"I'm so sorry," she says, her mouth full of Dots.

Santana rubs her thumb across the back of Brittany's hand and smiles, "I'm just kidding. And I told you to stop apologizing."

Brittany smiles and clenches her fingers tighter around Santana's.

"I find timetables confusing."

Santana smiles. Last night Brittany had abruptly interrupted their make-out session just before Santana was about to throw the last of her hesitations out the window and rip off all the blonde's clothes.

"_What's wrong?" Santana breathed, slightly loosening her hold on Brittany's waist._

"_Nothing, I just…" Brittany started, only to lose herself in Santana's deep brown eyes. "Will you date me?" she blurted out._

"_I'm sorry?"_

"_I mean, will you go on a date with me?"_

_Santana couldn't help but smile at Brittany's slightly flustered state, thankful that it wasn't her for once. She found it so endearing, in fact, that she forgot to answer._

"_It's just that…" Brittany continued, "… we missed all the 'getting to know you' stuff the first time around and I don't want you to think that this is just about the other stuff. You know, the sex stuff."_

_Santana's smile grew as Brittany went on, the blonde's cheeks flushing more and more._

"_Plus, I really like just being around you… so I thought maybe we could go to a movie or something? There's a Disney revival on at a cinema in West LA at the moment… if you're interested? You can totally think about it, it's happening all week. Or not… I mean it's okay if you don't…"_

"_Brittany?" Santana finally interjected, putting Brittany out of her rambling misery. _

"_Yeah?"_

"_What's playing tomorrow night?"_

It turned out that Return To Oz was on the schedule, which Santana couldn't have been more excited about. It was one of her childhood favorites. Brittany had told Santana she would organize everything, leaving with one last kiss and the promise that she would be a perfect gentleman for their first date.

"Well, it doesn't help when the films are on at crazy times," Santana says warmly, prompting Brittany to feel a little better. But, she is still really embarrassed that they had arrived 3 hours early for a 12am screening.

"Well, it did say _midnight_," Brittany explains, "But, 12am isn't the middle of the night… it's the start of the morning."

Santana makes sure not to laugh, knowing it will probably make Brittany feel worse. And, technically, the girl is right. Santana finds it completely adorable.

"I'm glad we came early," she says, "because I like just being around you, too."

Brittany blushes into her box of Junior Mints and Santana wonders how she can still be hungry. Once they realized the mix up with the session time, the two girls had taken a walk and found somewhere nice to sit and have something to eat. With more than two hours to fill, they went through every appetizer on the menu and then two rounds of dessert. Brittany had talked excitedly about dancing, motocross and her cat, Lord Tubbington. Santana spoke mostly about Quinn and Noah. Conversation had come easily for them, as though they had seen each other every day since the day they met six years ago. And then there were the extended moments of no conversation at all, neither girl daring to break what was arguably a very comfortable uncomfortable silence. Santana could feel her heartbeat in her ears, still baffled at how this girl made her feel things that she would never be able to give a name. When it came time to pay, Santana had reached out for the check first.

_Brittany put her hand on top of Santana's and shook her head._

"_Brittany, please… you already paid for the movie tickets."_

"_So?"_

_Santana opened her mouth to answer but the words got caught in her throat at the sight of Brittany's slightly raised eyebrow, her piercing blue eyes issuing a subtle challenge. The blonde licked her lips as she gently lifted Santana's hand and replaced it with her credit card. Santana stared wordlessly at Brittany as the waitress collected the check._

"_Thank you," she whispered, finally._

"_You're welcome," smiled Brittany._

_After another few moments of staring at each other in silence, Santana's skin began to buzz. She barely noticed the waitress return the check to their table._

"_Just a signature whenever you're ready," she said, shooting a curious glance between the girls, before walking away._

_Brittany giggled, reaching for the check. Her brow furrowed briefly in confusion before she turned to rummage through her bag._

"_Something wrong?" Santana asked._

"_No, she just didn't leave a pen. It's okay, I always carry something to write with."_

_Santana watched as Brittany searched her bag, her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration. Eventually her eyes lit up and she withdrew her hand in triumph. Santana's mouth dropped open as she stared at Brittany with wonder. _

"_Brittany, you can't use that!" she laughed._

"_Why not?" Brittany asked, genuine confusion flashing across her still smiling face, "Because it's red?"_

"_No," Santana said warmly, shaking her head in disbelief, "because it's a crayon."_

When they eventually made it back to the cinema, Brittany had stocked up on snacks and the attendants allowed them to take their seats early.

Now, with only a few minutes left until midnight, Santana is beginning to think they may very well have the entire cinema to themselves for the whole movie, making her heartbeat quicken and a quiet hum escape her throat. She shuffles awkwardly, trying to get as close to Brittany as the seats will allow.

"Santana?" Brittany says, looking up from her lap.

"Mmm?"

"Will there be trailers?"

"Um, I guess so."

"But, it's an old movie. So, do they show previews for new movies or old movies?"

"Well… I…" Santana pauses, momentarily lost for words. She laughs, "I have no idea."

"They should show trailers for the trailers," Brittany says, seriously "… so we know what to expect."

"I don't know," Santana responds with a smile, "I'm really starting to like the feeling of being surprised."

Brittany sits up suddenly and beams at Santana, squeezing her hand before letting it go.

"Close your eyes," she whispers.

Santana's eyes are shut in an instant, her heartbeat kicking up a notch to keep in time with the butterflies that have taken over her stomach. She licks her lips expectantly, a single throb between her legs causing her breath to hitch. She waits.

"Open," comes Brittany's voice, low and excited.

Her brow creasing, Santana opens her eyes slowly. Brittany is still beaming at her, but she hasn't moved even an inch closer. She is holding out both her hands towards Santana, fists clenched and facing down.

"Left or right?" she asks.

"What's in them?"

"That's the surprise, silly! You have to choose one."

"But, I don't even know what I'm choosing between," Santana says.

Brittany pauses for a moment before answering.

"Kisses."

Santana's eyes widen. Brittany stares at her, waiting patiently with a goofy grin plastered across her face. She wiggles her hands in front of Santana. The Latina reaches out and taps Brittany's left hand, the blonde's smile twitching with a hint of mischief. Santana holds her breath as Brittany flips over her left hand and slowly uncurls her fingers to reveal… a Hershey's Kiss. Santana's heart drops a little but Brittany's twinkling blue eyes are enough to make her smile. She takes the small, silver object from Brittany's hand and begins to unwrap it, inhaling deeply.

"So, what's in your right hand?" she asks, throwing the chocolate into her mouth.

Brittany opens her other hand and wiggles her fingers. It's empty.

"It was between a chocolate kiss or nothing?" Santana asks with a grin, "Yay for me."

She claps her hands together a couple of times and winks at Brittany.

"Actually, it was between a chocolate kiss and a real one, so…"

She presses her lips together and shrugs, Santana's mouth now hanging open in shock. Shuffling over slightly in her seat, Brittany smiles and reaches out to link her pinky with Santana's. It sends a jolt of excitement through Santana, who manages to regain her composure and lean in closer. They sit like that for a moment, the rising and falling of their chests mirroring each other and giving them both away. Santana smiles and moves to close the gap between them when all of a sudden the lights start to dim and Brittany lets out a small squeak of excitement.

"No trailers," she whispers as she lays her head down on Santana's shoulder.

"No trailers," Santana confirms, breathing in the citrusy scent of her shampoo. She smiles and shakes her head, resting it gently against Brittany's. She sighs contentedly as the blonde lets out little oohs and aahs, following the action on screen like a giddy schoolgirl. Within 15 minutes, however, Brittany's face is pressed firmly against Santana's shoulder and she spends most of the first half of the film that way, peeking at the screen occasionally when she thinks it's safe.

"Britt… it's okay, we can go if you want to…" Santana whispers, again. She has offered to leave about a dozen times, but Brittany continues to refuse. Despite being scared, she is completely enjoying herself. Something tells her it has nothing to do with the film itself and everything to do with being curled up against Santana.

"Do you promise to let me know if it gets too scary for you?" Santana asks, her eyes full of concern.

Brittany turns her face up to Santana with a reassuring smile, "Only if you promise to always protect me from Wheelers."

Santana laughs softly and smiles back, wrapping her arm around Brittany's shoulders.

"Deal."

* * *

Walking slightly in front of Santana, Brittany bounces up the bottom few steps before turning around to flash her date a smile.

"You don't have to _literally_ walk me to my door, Britt…"

"I want to make sure you get home okay," Brittany giggles, determined to play the gentleman right to the very end. "It's late."

"It is," Santana agrees, though she feels more awake right now than she ever has.

The two girls climb the staircase together, pausing on the landing at the top while Santana fumbles around in her bag. She pulls out her keys and turns to Brittany.

"Thank you for tonight," she says.

"You're welcome," Brittany smiles.

"I'm sorry about the movie. I forgot it was a little… dark."

"It's not your fault. You were really excited to watch it and I just assumed it was a fun kids movie. The first one isn't like that, is it?"

"Huh?"

"The first Wizard of Oz movie? The one we just saw was a sequel, right?"

Santana looks at Brittany quizzically for a moment, her head tilted slightly to one side.

"Hold up…" she says, as the thought occurs to her, "Brittany… please tell me you've seen The Wizard of Oz?"

Brittany frowns.

"I don't want to lie to you, Santana."

Santana stares at her in disbelief.

"You really _haven't_? How… how is that even possible?

"Um…" Brittany starts, still frowning.

"No, I'm sorry, obviously it's _possible_. I just… that's just not right."

She let's the information sink in and makes a snap decision. She grabs Brittany's hand.

"I have it on DVD. You're coming in."

"Santana, it's 2 o'clock in the morning."

"Are you tired?"

Brittany smiles.

"Not at all."

Santana unlocks and opens the door, squeezing Brittany's hand and pulling her inside.

* * *

A distant banging sound pulls Santana out of her sleep. She grumbles loudly and moves to roll over but freezes suddenly as she becomes aware of the body pressed against her. She looks down at the mess of blonde hair on her shoulder, Brittany's face barely visible underneath. Santana smiles, suddenly very thankful that the grumbling didn't wake her. She can't remember watching much of The Wizard of Oz last night. In fact, she's pretty sure she didn't even make it to the color part. She wonders if Brittany stayed awake for the whole thing. Regardless, her heart swells at the fact that she is still here this morning.

The blonde's arm is draped across Santana's stomach, her fingertips resting gently against the back of the Latina's hand. Santana wriggles her arm away carefully and holds her breath as she reaches over to brush the hair from Brittany's sleeping face. She looks beautiful and peaceful and perfect. Santana's heart clenches.

She hears the banging again, more annoyed this time because it causes Brittany to stir. Reluctantly, she moves Brittany over gently and crawls out from underneath her. She hopes she can find the source of the noise, murder it good and proper, and return to her spot next to Brittany before the blonde even knows she's gone.

She straightens her shirt and runs her fingers through her hair before sliding open the door and stepping out onto the mezzanine. The banging sound, now accompanied by muffled shouting, is coming from downstairs. As she descends the staircase Santana can just make out a tiny figure standing outside, pounding relentlessly on the door. Her eyes narrow in confusion as she approaches, the woman outside looking just as puzzled. Santana unlatches the lock and opens the door.

"Rachel…" she says in surprise.

Rachel stares blankly at Santana for a moment before looking past her to survey the studio. Her brow furrows as she looks back to Santana.

"Are you here for Quinn?" Santana continues.

She's a little surprised that Quinn would neglect to mention that she had made more plans with Rachel but, then again, Santana would probably have teased her about it so she guesses it makes sense that she didn't. She steps aside to let the still silent Rachel inside. "FYI, our front door is around the corner and up the stairs," she says.

"Okay, I'm really confused…" Rachel finally says, "_You_ live here? You and Quinn?"

"Um yeah," Santana answers, puzzled again. "Well, upstairs. The studio belongs to…"

"Brittany!"

Santana follows Rachel's eye line up to where Brittany has emerged from the bedroom, her hair and clothes in complete disarray. The butterflies in Santana's stomach wake up. Brittany throws her a grin before switching her attention to Rachel.

"Hey, Rach!"

Brittany bounces down the staircase with so much energy it makes Santana tired. She could have guessed that Brittany would be a morning person.

"Weren't we meeting at the store?" the blonde asks.

"Yes," Rachel confirms, "An hour ago."

She is clearly a little annoyed.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," Brittany offers, "You know how crap I am with these things. I guess we fell asleep last night before I had the chance to set an alarm."

At that, Rachel shoots a look at Santana and then back to Brittany. Her eyes pause on the blonde's "bed hair".

"Oh my god… your date last night was with _Santana_?"

"Wait, how do you know Santana?" Brittany asks excitedly.

"How do _you _know Santana?" Rachel counters.

Brittany giggles, "She lives upstairs."

"How do you know Rachel?" Santana chimes in.

"She's…"

But, before Brittany can finish the sentence, everything clicks into place for Santana. Brittany works as dancer for her friend. Her friend who isn't a dancer herself. Who lives in New York but is having her wedding in LA. Her wedding at which she will dance to a Barbra Streisand song.

Santana finishes the sentence for Brittany, "She's the bride."


	12. Chapter 12

_Rachel stared silently at her reflection. She took in a deep breath and held it just long enough to make herself slightly uncomfortable before letting it out slowly and allowing the relief to wash over her. Running her hands down her sides, she could feel the smooth white fabric under her shaky fingers. She watched as her eyes welled, squeezing them shut to set the tears free. She kind of liked the feeling of wetness on her cheeks; she liked the feeling of feeling._

_"It really is a beautiful dress," came a voice from behind her._

_She looked past her own reflection to see Quinn standing in the doorway._

_"You really think so?" she asked._

_"I do."_

_Rachel smiled as she finally wiped her cheeks and turned around, "I think that's supposed to be my line."_

_"I guess so," Quinn replied quietly, unable to smile back._

_Rachel stepped down the stairs and moved tentatively towards Quinn. She took in the sight of her again in the bright pink dress she had chosen._

_"What do you think of yours?" she asked._

_The blonde didn't respond to her question. She met Rachel's eyes and shook her head._

_"Rachel…" Quinn started._

_"Please, Quinn," Rachel whispered, dropping her eyes to the ground, "If you're going to tell me how much of a mistake I'm making again I'd rather not hear it. I know you don't want to be wearing that dress. And I know you don't want this wedding to go ahead. What I don't know is why you're here, why you came back…"_

_Quinn wasn't sure how to answer Rachel. She had stormed out about 10 minutes ago after berating Rachel for making a juvenile decision and had told her that she refused to stand by and watch her ruin her life by marrying _Finn Hudson_. She was still sitting in her car when she saw Tina and Mercedes leaving the bridal shop without Rachel. Knowing that the brunette was still inside, Quinn had almost involuntarily gotten out of her car and now she found herself back in front of Rachel, her feelings having not changed one bit._

_"I… I came to return the dress," Quinn said, walking past Rachel towards the change rooms. She was stopped by a gentle hand on her arm._

_"Your clothes aren't in there," Rachel explained, the disappointment evident in her voice, "We didn't think you were coming back so Tina took them with her."_

_"Oh," was all Quinn could manage._

_She had wanted the extra time changing to collect her thoughts, to figure out how to salvage her friendship with Rachel without conceding her support for the inevitably disastrous marriage._

_"Will you wait while I get changed?" Rachel asked tentatively, interrupting Quinn's thoughts, "Um, then we can go get your clothes from Tina and I'll… I'll bring your dress back."_

_"Yeah, okay."_

_Rachel managed a small smile before turning away from Quinn and entering her change room. Quinn paced back and forth, fidgeting anxiously._

_"I'm sorry…" she blurted out, loudly, finally coming to a stop in the center of the room._

_Silence filled the air as Quinn stared at the change room door. There was no way Rachel would not have heard her, so she held her breath and waited for a response. On the other side of the door, Rachel was also holding her breath. She stood with her hands behind her back, her fingers frozen on the small clasp at the top of her dress' zipper. She didn't know what to say. Quinn's approval and support meant so much to her but she was set on marrying Finn. It was a strange dilemma that she never expected she would have to face._

_"Rachel?" came Quinn's voice, again. "I really am sorry. This… this whole thing has come as such a surprise."_

_Rachel let out her breath, her brow creasing slightly._

_"Quinn, you know better than anyone how I feel about Finn," she called out cautiously, resuming her attempt to unhook the clasp, "is it really so shocking that I would want to spend my life with him?"_

_She locked eyes with herself in the mirror, wishing she were looking at Quinn instead. When she heard the blonde's voice again, it was closer._

_"I'm not talking about the wedding…" Quinn said, quietly._

_Rachel's hands froze again. She wasn't having much luck with the clasp anyway. She heard the floor creak. Quinn was right outside the change room._

_"I meant us," the blonde continued, "Our friendship. I never expected to care about you, Rachel. Not like this. You were just… Rachel Berry; that annoying singing girl…"_

_Rachel couldn't help but let out a small laugh. She felt some of the tension drain from her body, yet there was a strange anxiety bubbling up inside her that needed to be dealt with._

_Outside the change room, Quinn leaned towards the door, so close that the wooden slats were casting horizontal light patterns across her face. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to be so close. Was she listening for something? A clue as to how Rachel was reacting? Not being able to see the girl's expression was driving her crazy._

_"Quinn?" Rachel's voice came suddenly, sending the blonde stumbling back a few steps._

_"Yeah?"_

_"Can you… can you please come in here?"_

_Quinn took another step back in surprise, pausing for a moment. She mumbled something like an "okay" and moved back towards the door. Taking a deep breath, she opened it slowly._

_Rachel met her eyes in the reflection._

_"I can't get the clasp to unhook," she admitted, her voice strong but for an almost imperceptible quiver._

_Quinn smiled kindly and stepped towards her, bringing her hands up to Rachel's dress. Her fingers brushed against Rachel's skin as she took hold of the clasp, her heart skipping a couple of beats. As much as she was surprised by her own body's involuntary reactions, she was more shocked by Rachel's. She made the snap decision to play her final card._

_"Does that happen when Finn touches you?" Quinn whispered into Rachel's ear._

_Rachel followed Quinn's gaze down to her own arms, which were covered in goose bumps. Her head snapped back up to find Quinn looking at her in the mirror. Her heart thumped in her chest, reacting not only to Quinn's touch but also to her words._

_"I…" she started, but wasn't given the chance to continue._

_"Rachel. I've seen the look you get in your eyes when you really want something, when you're doing something that you're passionate about. I've seen the need, the drive… the desire. You don't look at Finn that way."_

_"He makes me happy," Rachel responded, after a telling pause, filling her voice with all the conviction she could muster. The look on Quinn's face suggested it wasn't enough._

_"I think he makes you comfortable."_

_"What's wrong with comfortable?" Rachel mumbled, defensively._

_"Nothing. If you're someone who isn't Rachel Berry."_

_Rachel felt the weight from her shoulders drop into her stomach. She let her eyes fall to the floor, tears trying to fight their way out again. Quinn unhooked the clasp on Rachel's dress and pulled the zipper down a few inches._

_"Turn around," she said._

_Rachel shook her head, her eyes still on the floor._

_"Please, Rachel. Turn around."_

_The tiny brunette trembled as she slowly spun around on the spot so her body was facing Quinn's. Her head remained down. She felt Quinn's fingers under her chin, pushing gently upwards. She closed her eyes and let her head be lifted._

_"Now look at me."_

_"I can't."_

_"Because you know that when you do, I'll see it in your eyes that I'm right?"_

_"No," Rachel answered weakly._

_A tear finally escaped and Quinn caught it with her thumb as it rolled down Rachel's cheek._

_"Then why are you crying?"_

_Rachel finally opened her eyes and Quinn knew she was right. Finn didn't make her feel anything. Because, this… this was Rachel Berry feeling. Tears and trembling and dark, piercing eyes. Quinn knew Rachel was almost there, so close to admitting to herself that marrying the boy would be a terrible mistake. She wasn't lying before when she said that their friendship had surprised her. But, what surprised her most was how desperately she wanted Rachel to be happy and how, more than anything, she needed Rachel to become… Rachel. The only Rachel she was meant to be. The star. The epic talent. _The_ Rachel Berry. Not Rachel Hudson of Lima, Ohio. And certainly not Rachel Hudson, the girl who lost her passion._

_And with that thought, Quinn threaded her fingers into Rachel's hair and pulled her in close, pausing to feel Rachel's breath against her own lips. It was Rachel who closed the gap between them, their mouths crashing together hard. The warmth and slight saltiness made Quinn's head swim as Rachel's fingers clawed desperately at her back. She wrapped her arms around Rachel's shoulders and held her tight, feeling the girl's body tense and then melt completely against her. Their frantic kisses slowed as they found a comfortable rhythm, Rachel's hands finally stilling on the small of Quinn's back. Eventually their movements came to a complete stop and they stood that way for what felt like minutes, with their lips pressed warmly against each other's. Rachel sighed into Quinn's mouth as the blonde slowly pulled away. _

"Quinn?"

Quinn looks up to see Rachel staring at her, eyebrows slightly raised.

"Huh?" Quinn mumbles, dazedly coming out of her memory.

"You were totally somewhere else just now," Rachel continues as she steps out of the change room completely.

"I was just thinking about… um…"

"The last time we were in this situation?" Rachel smiles, her cheeks flushing red.

"Yeah," Quinn smiles back.

"Me too," Rachel admits, stepping out into the good light. "I'm sorry… is it weird?"

Quinn shakes her head and stands, moving towards Rachel.

"I mean, I didn't really think about _this _moment when I asked if you wanted to come with me," Rachel continues, looking down at her dress. "I didn't want to come alone but, I just can't deal with that kicked puppy look Brittany gets on her face… and I could see it coming."

"No, no… it's fine. It was a long time ago," she says, pausing to clear her throat. "And this is totally different," she says as she circles her old friend, eyeing the dress. She can't read Rachel's expression and she is suddenly unsure.

"Wait," she says, "things _are _different, right? Oh God, you're not marrying Finn Hudson are you?"

Rachel laughs at the almost panicked tone of Quinn's voice, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Sorry," Quinn laughs in relief, "I have a 5 year old… I don't have much free time to watch E!..."

"God no, don't apologize," Rachel smiles, "it's a nice change when someone _doesn't_know all the details of my personal life. Although, obviously, I don't mind so much when it's a friend."

Quinn smiles as Rachel continues, "Did you even know I was getting married?"

Quinn shakes her head, a little embarrassed. She has definitely kept an eye on Rachel's career over the years, proudly watching on as she won awards and fame, but she somehow managed to miss a lot of the personal stuff. If she really thought about it, she would probably come to the conclusion that she deliberately missed the personal stuff.

Rachel laughs.

"It's funny, I've actually been thinking about you a lot lately," she admits, "I guess wedding dresses remind me of you."

Quinn blushes. There is a moment of silence between them. It's not uncomfortable but it makes Quinn flush a little more.

"Thank you," Rachel says, eventually.

"For what?"

"For that day. For stopping me from making the biggest mistake of my life."

"I don't think you would have really gone through with it," Quinn offers.

"I'm not so sure," Rachel counters, "I'd kind of lost myself for a while there. I thought being Finn's wife would be enough for me. But, you knew better."

"I knew _you_."

"Yes, you did."

Quinn smiles softly, "Well… you're welcome."

"I know we never really talked about it," Rachel goes on, "so I just wanted you to know that I always appreciated it. More than you can imagine."

Images of the Rachel that she used to know flash through Quinn's mind as she watches the brunette's eyes fill with tears. She thinks to herself that she doesn't seem to have changed much. Strong emotion had always turned into tears and the energy that radiates from her now is just as infectious as it used to be. In the moments after they kissed, all those years ago, Quinn had been so overwhelmed by the look in Rachel's eyes that she turned away with a clearing of her throat and a wink that said, _just something to think about. _She hadn't exactly avoided Rachel after that, they still had fun during Glee rehearsals and classes and stuff, but she had made sure not to be alone with her, to avoid the very conversation they were having now. She didn't want to process or deconstruct or over-think, as teenage girls tend to do. She just wanted to let it be something that happened, not something that could happen again. It was the idea that maybe the latter was something she wanted that freaked her out the most. She knows now that it was a moment of necessary expression for someone that share cared about deeply, but back then it was confusing. Listening to her talk now, Quinn realises that all her avoidance may have done was deny Rachel the opportunity to say thank you.

"Then Prom happened and the…" Rachel continues, pausing to take a deep breath, "… and then you were gone and I never got to tell you."

A whimper escapes from somewhere deep inside her. Quinn opens her arms and Rachel stumbles into them, letting the tears fall freely this time.

"You didn't marry him, Rach…" Quinn says into the brunette's hair, "so, I kind of figured that you had gotten the point."

Rachel laughs into Quinn's shoulder and lifts her head, "Well, you were very… convincing."

The girls smile at each other, only a hint of awkwardness left between them, as Rachel wipes her eyes and Quinn breaks the embrace. Rachel takes a few steps towards the mirror and runs her hands over a couple of patches on the dress where the material has wrinkled a little. She looks at Quinn over her shoulder, whose eyes are somewhere else, and smiles to herself.

* * *

"So, you all went to high school together?" Brittany says, completing her umpteenth pirouette, "That blows my mind."

"It's definitely feeling like a very small world lately" Santana smiles, as she adds a little more flour to her pancake batter mix.

She looks up at Brittany, who has been dancing around her kitchen for the last 10 minutes, humming "The Merry Old Land of Oz." _I guess she stayed awake until at least that part of the film_.

"I barely knew Rachel," Santana continues, "but she and Quinn were sort of friends."

"Sort of?" Brittany asks, coming up behind Santana and sticking her index finger into the raw pancake mix.

"Well, I guess they spent a lot of time together because of Glee Club. Stop that!" Santana says, smacking Brittany's hand away from the bowl.

Brittany licks the batter off her finger slowly, with a wink and a giggle, making Santana swallow hard.

"Seemed like it was more than just feelings of Glee Club nostalgia between them this morning," Brittany says, "Didn't you feel the energy shift when Quinn came in and saw Rachel? There's a story there."

Santana's eyes widen, impressed and slightly shocked by Brittany's observation. Brittany grins at her and sticks another finger into the pancake mix. She is across the room in three long strides before Santana even realises what's happening. The Latina frowns and throws a wooden spoon at her, causing Brittany to resume her pirouetting with a cartoonishly evil chuckle, as it falls lamely to the floor, five feet in front of her.

"That was pathetic," Brittany teases.

"Clearly you've changed your mind about having pancakes for breakfast," Santana retorts.

Brittany's smile fades in an instant, replaced by puppy dog eyes full of remorse. Santana laughs and resumes stirring the batter. Brittany claps her hands together and takes a seat at the bench.

"How come _you _weren't in the Glee Club?" she asks Santana, "You have such a beautiful voice."

Santana scoffs, "Compared to _Rachel_?"

"Compared to everyone," Brittany states, matter-of-factly.

Santana rolls her eyes but feels herself blush. No one has ever told her she has a beautiful voice. Because no one has ever heard her sing. Well, not properly. She used to sing to Noah a lot, especially those nights out on the mezzanine when she was letting Quinn have a break.

"I almost joined," Santana remembers, not particularly fondly. Quinn had heard her humming once, when she thought she was alone in the locker room after Cheerios practice, and somehow convinced her to audition. She was on her way to the choir room when she was slushied for the first, and last, time.

"Almost?"

"Yeah," Santana says absentmindedly, still remembering how much it stung. Both the ice and the humiliation. She shakes it off and turns to Brittany, who is staring at her intently. "But, I decided it just wouldn't work," she continues, "That choir room wasn't big enough for me _and _Berry."

Brittany laughs, "So, she obviously hasn't changed much since high school."

"I guess not," Santana nods. She finds it strange that Rachel Berry is suddenly a real presence in her life again, no longer just that girl she went to school with who ended up a superstar. She never gave Rachel much of a chance back then, but figures if Quinn and Brittany were able to see past all the theatrics, maybe she could, too. The diva certainly earned herself some points this morning. Santana smiles at Brittany, "Quinn always said she was a good friend."

"She is," Brittany confirms, leaning forward with a delighted smile as Santana pours some pancake mix into the hot frying pan. "I'm glad she let me off the hook this morning and took Quinn shopping with her instead. She could obviously tell how desperate I was."

Santana's jaw drops.

"To try your pancakes," Brittany deadpans.

"Of course," Santana says, clearing her throat. She lifts the frying pan off the stove and grabs a spatula, moving over to the bench. "Gimme your plate," she says to Brittany.

Brittany beams and lifts up her plate, practically salivating as Santana dishes up a giant pancake for her and goes back to the stove.

"Where do you think you're going?" Brittany asks, cutting her pancake down the middle and forking one half onto a second plate. She places it down on the bench and pats the seat next to her, "I'm not having breakfast without you."

Santana's heart flutters a little as she places the pan back on the stove, turns off the heat and sits down next to Brittany.

"Thanks," she says, smiling at her plate.

"Thank _you_," Brittany responds, nudging Santana playfully.

Brittany puts a generous amount of pancake on her fork and lifts it to her mouth.

"Aren't you going to have some syrup or something?" Santana asks.

"How am I going to judge if these truly are the _best _pancakes if I start adding all sorts of other flavours?" she answers with a wink, shoving the fork into her mouth.

Her eyes instantly roll back in her head. Santana smiles and leans across the bench to pour herself some coffee.

"_Fuck me_, these are good," Brittany murmurs.

Santana's head shoots up, as does her eyebrow. Brittany catches the look and rolls her eyes.

"Behave," Brittany tells her.

"Why should I?" Santana asks, wiggling both eyebrows.

"Because, seeing as though I didn't go home and I haven't changed, this is technically still the same date from last night..."

"So?"

"So... I made a promise and I intend to keep it."

Santana rolls her eyes.

"Fine," she pouts, "If you're so determined to be a gentleman, you can take care of the dishes."

Brittany giggles, "Santana, it would be my pleasure to do the dishes."

Santana doesn't miss a beat.

"You know what else it would be your pleasure to do?" she purrs.

Brittany tries hard not to blush, smiling as Santana inches closer. Santana brings her lips right up to Brittany's ear and exhales softly, sending a head to toe shiver through the blonde. She opens her mouth to answer her own question, although it seems rather rhetorical at this point. Before she gets the chance, however, there is a loud knock at the door. She turns her head aggressively towards the source of the interruption, allowing Brittany to wriggle away from her slightly.

"You might want to get that," she smirks.

Santana narrows her eyes at Brittany and dramatically gets off her stool. Her grumpy face is soon replaced with an affectionate smile as she opens the door to a beaming Noah.

"I'm home!" the girl exclaims dramatically, making Santana chuckle and shake her head.

Noah had been on a morning play date with one of the neighbors' kids. As she runs inside, Santana peeks out the door and waves down to the woman at the base of the stairs.

"Thanks, Leanne," she calls out, "She's in."

Leanne waves back in acknowledgement and Santana closes the door. Back in the kitchen she finds Noah sitting on Brittany's chair and Brittany at the stove, cooking more pancakes.

"I didn't let her have your half," Brittany says, smiling at Santana.

Santana smiles back and then laughs at the look of anguish on Noah's face as she stares longingly at Santana's plate.

"Knock yourself out, date-crasher," she tells Noah affectionately, picking up the plate and placing it in front of her.

Noah digs in and Santana walks over to Brittany at the stove.

"You don't have to do that," she says.

"It's okay, I want to," Brittany tells her, "Go sit."

Santana sighs but instead of sitting down she starts to clean up a little.

"Uh uh uh," Brittany chides, waggling a finger at Santana. "Sit."

Reluctantly, but with a smile on her face, Santana joins Noah at the bench.

"Good?" she asks.

Noah nods vigorously, so as not to talk with her mouth full. Santana smiles and lowers her voice.

"Better than Mommy's?"

"You don't have to answer that," Brittany tells Noah, appearing suddenly at the bench to serve them all more pancakes. "Santana, you can't make her choose between you and her mom... that's mean."

"She does it all the time," Noah says, not seeming too fussed about it. When there are pancakes in front of her, Noah doesn't seem too fussed about anything.

Brittany shakes her head at Santana, who puts on her best innocent face and bats her eyelashes.

"That's not going to work on me," Brittany says, poking out her tongue and going back to the stove.

"We'll see," Santana says with a grin, mostly to herself.

After all the pancake batter is used up, Brittany fills the sink with water and detergent and Noah collapses on the sofa, groaning dramatically and clutching her belly. Santana shakes her head, jumping up to sit on the counter next to Brittany as she washes the dishes. Brittany doesn't look up, smiling to herself as she scrubs and hums. Santana recognises the tune from the end of The Wizard of Oz credits. _She stayed awake for the whole thing_, Santana thinks with a smile. And then it dawns on her. Her throat constricts a little as her heart thumps hard for a few beats. Brittany didn't just accidentally fall asleep, she _chose _to stay. She chose to fall asleep next to her. The feelings are instant. She grabs onto the edge of the counter for support, suddenly a little light-headed.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asks, looking up and meeting Santana's gaze. She waits through a few moments of silence before leaning closer, "Santana?"

Santana just stares at her, eyes wide but soft, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Brittany lifts her soapy, wet hand out of the sink and holds it in front of Santana's face. _Flick_. As the tiny droplets of water hit her, Santana snaps back to attention, shaking her head in disbelief. Brittany giggles, turning back to the dishes.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Santana rolls her eyes but her smile is wide.

"Don't think for a second that I'm going to let you get away with drenching me with water," she threatens.

"I didn't _drench _you," Brittany smiles.

"Not for lack of trying," Santana says, dramatically lifting her shirt to wipe her face. Brittany grins.

"Santana, if I had meant to drench you, you'd be drenched."

"Is that so?"

"Yep."

There is only the smallest of pauses before Brittany's hand comes swiftly out of the sink, bringing with it a wave of soapy water. The bulk of it hits Santana directly in the face and chest. Brittany laughs at Santana's complete and utter state of shock.

"No you did _not_..."

A sly smirk settles on Brittany's face.

"Pretty sure I_ did_."

"You know I'm going to make you pay for that, right?" Santana says slowly as she lowers herself off the counter. They are standing face to face in front of the sink, staring each other down. Brittany resists looking down at Santana's soaked shirt.

"Is that so?" she smiles, holding back another giggle.

Santana is trying to be intimidating but standing in front of Brittany like this makes their height difference seem enormous. The blonde looks down at Santana with a small chuckle. Undeterred, Santana holds Brittany's gaze and casually reaches into the sink. _It's empty_. She glances to the sink and then back to Brittany, who playfully waves the plug in front of Santana's face.

"Oops..." she says, batting her eyelashes.

The look on Santana's face is full of both incredulity and affection. She knows she's beaten... for now. After a few moments she leans forward, forcing Brittany to press her back up against the counter. She holds her body to Brittany's for moment before leaning past her and taking a dish towel from the shelf. With a shrug and an exaggerated arch of her eyebrow, she moves away from the blonde and takes a plate from the drying rack, never breaking eye contact. Brittany nods and presses her lips together, her eyes doing all the smiling. She takes Santana's lead and they dry the dishes together in silence, sharing the occasional glance.

"Well, this isn't right," comes Quinn's stern voice, as she enters the kitchen, surveilling the scene in front of her.

"I'm sorry," Brittany says frowning at the floor, "the water is my fault, I'll totally mop it up."

Quinn smiles and shakes her head, "No, no, I was talking about Santana doing chores. Are you feeling okay, S?"

Santana responds by throwing her dish towel at Quinn.

"That's more like it."

"How was your date with Berry?" Santana asks her, pulling another dish towel off the shelf and dropping it onto the puddle of water that made Brittany frown.

Quinn just shakes her head.

"So, Santana made pancakes?" she asks, having been greeted by Noah's stomach ache grumbles when she arrived home a few minutes earlier. The question is directed at Brittany.

"Um... yeah..."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to make you say whose you think are better," Quinn teases, not missing the wink that Santana throws Brittany, "Something tells me I'm at a distinct _dis_advantage."

A huge grin spreads across Santana's face. Brittany beams back at her and the two of them stare at each other like that for a few moments before Quinn rolls her eyes with smile and leaves the room. She pokes her head back in seconds later.

"Brittany, Rachel asked me to tell you that while she was happy to let you out of dress shopping this morning, she's not so keen for you to miss rehearsal."

"Shoot!" Brittany exclaims, "Am I late?"

Quinn looks at her watch and smiles at Brittany, "You have 25 mintues."

Brittany looks at Santana with her puppy dog eyes. Santana decides that she much prefers smiling Brittany.

"I'll walk you out," she says with a pout.

Santana takes Brittany's hand and leads her to the door.

"Thanks again," she says, suddenly coy, "for the date, I mean."

"You're welcome," Brittany smiles, "Thanks for the pancakes."

"Anytime."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"I hope so."

There is a pause. And a sigh.

"I gotta go."

Brittany leans in to kiss Santana on the cheek but, timing it perfectly, Santana turns her head quickly, causing the kiss to land on her lips instead. Before she can pull away in surprise, Santana's hand is around Brittany's neck, holding them firmly together. Brittany relaxes and Santana smiles into the kiss, feeling victorious. And about a million other things. When Brittany pulls away eventually, and reluctantly, she is smiling but shaking her head.

"That was very sneaky, Santana."

"You ain't seen nothing, yet."


	13. Chapter 13

Santana watches until Brittany is completely out of sight. Even then she lingers in the doorway for a minute or so.

"Exactly how long are you planning on standing there like that?" Quinn teases, entering the lounge room. "Because if you're waiting until she comes back, you could be there awhile. From memory, rehearsals run by Rachel aren't short."

"I wasn't waiting for her to come back," Santana snaps, only softening when she turns around to see Quinn carefully placing a blanket over her sleeping daughter.

The blonde then tiptoes over to Santana, gently pries her fingers from the door and closes it quietly. Santana's shoulders drop slightly as she lets out a little huff.

"You look exhausted," Quinn tells her with a hint of amusement, "Do you want me to tuck you in for a nap, too, or should I make you some fresh coffee?"

"Coffee, please," Santana grumbles, poking out her bottom lip. She continues to pout as she ambles into the kitchen behind Quinn.

"Tell me again why you're not at work today?"

Quinn gets no response from Santana, who may as well be walking with her eyes closed. After bumping into the kitchen bench she gives it a quick side eye and clumsily takes a seat on one of the stools. This morning she was running on the adrenaline that pumps through her veins whenever she's with Brittany, the lack of sleep now catching up with her in the blonde's absence. She lays her arms out on the bench and drops her head to rest on them, mumbling something indiscernible.

"Did you say something?" Quinn asks her.

"Did _you _say something?" Santana echoes.

It's such a delayed response that it takes Quinn a moment to remember she asked Santana a question.

"Oh, right. Well, obviously you're not in much of a state to be there... but why aren't you at work?"

Santana doesn't lift her head, mumbling her response into her arms.

"I told Randy that I might be in late and he just gave me the whole day off."

Considering her position, she doesn't see Quinn's brow furrow. However, she knows her well enough to assume that she is getting the trademarked Fabray "that sounds dodgy" stare.

"He's being really nice to me this week," she offers as an explanation, finally looking up at Quinn. The blonde seems wary. "In fact," Santana continues, "I think it might have something to do with your girlfriend." Santana manages a smirk before dropping her head back down, adding "He gushes over her more than you do."

Quinn walks over to Santana and smacks her on the back of her head, placing a mug of coffee down loudly next to her.

"It's amazing how you still always manage to find enough energy to be such an asshole," Quinn says evenly as Santana glares at her, rubbing her head.

The blonde takes a seat. "I don't gush," she states, with a hint of defensiveness, before adding, "Drink your coffee, you look like a zombie."

Santana shifts so she is sitting somewhat upright, pouting into her mug as she takes a sip. She drops her head back down and closes her eyes with a yawn, thinking that it's lucky her boss has taken her relationship with Rachel for much more than it is. Randy giving her a full day off like this is unprecedented, the only explanation being that he wants to make Santana happy, which he assumes will make her "good friend Rachel" happy. Santana smiles to herself, knowing full well that at least part of his assumption is a result of her spending the last two days deliberately dropping casual references to her former classmate.

"How was dress shopping?" she mumbles.

"Nostalgic," the blonde replies slowly.

Santana registers somewhere in the back of her mind that Quinn still hasn't told her about what happened between the two of them in high school, but has so little energy all she can manage to say is, "Cool."

"How's that coffee working out for you?" Quinn laughs, nudging Santana.

The brunette lets out a small huff, but makes no attempt to sit up. Just as it seems like she might take a nap right here on the kitchen bench, her phone buzzes suddenly in her pocket. She jumps; half with surprise, half with expectation. Sitting bolt upright and pulling out the phone, her pulse speeds up involuntarily as she peeks down to see the only name she was hoping for. _Brittany._

A nervous kind of excitement washes over her. She feels it in her chest and in her stomach. Suddenly she is wide awake. As she swallows hard she notices her hand shake, ever-so-slightly. Becoming aware of the tension in her body she lets her shoulders drop and rolls her eyes at herself. _It's just a fucking text message._

She opens the text and reads.

_Just thought you should know, your pancakes win all the awards. B xx_

All efforts to play it cool vanish as her smile transforms into a goofy grin. Quinn chuckles at her.

"Is that _your girlfriend_?"

Her words are lost as Santana taps excitedly at her phone. Shaking her head, Quinn takes back Santana's cup of coffee, realizing that when it comes to energy boosts, caffeine has nothing on a text from Brittany. In fact, she's starting to realize that when is comes to Santana, most things are going to have nothing on Brittany. She pats Santana gently on the shoulder and leaves the kitchen, the brunette barely noticing as she writes and erases text after text. She desperately wants to tell Brittany to come back.

And a little part of her wants to say "_I told you so." _

She takes in a deep breath and settles on something else.

_Well then I'll definitely have to make them for you again :-)_

Her thumb is barely off the Send button when her phone vibrates with a reply.

_Definitely :D_

Again, Santana has to stop herself from simply replying "_Come back!_" She taps her thumb nervously against her phone, reluctantly deciding to play it a little cooler. Slightly.

_Are you busy Friday night?_

Brittany's reply takes a bit longer this time. But, not much.

_You going to cook me pancakes for dinner?_

Santana giggles, wondering if Brittany is flirting or genuinely asking. She considers it for a moment and honestly can't decide. With a cheeky smirk to herself, she sends another reply that accounts for both.

_The pancakes are for breakfast on Saturday morning ;-)_

As Santana waits for Brittany's response, she notices her cheeks are beginning to hurt. She realizes she's been beaming at her phone this whole time and forces her face to relax a little. When she receives no reply after a couple of minutes her smile fades completely and she begins to worry that her last message was too forward. Her little worry starts to snowball and it doesn't take long for her heart lodge itself in her throat. Not in a good way. Although the butterflies in her stomach haven't settled since she opened the door to Brittany almost a week ago, Santana feels like she has been a little more in control of her nerves during their last few encounters. Enough, at least, to flirt confidently without feeling like her words might come out as a bunch of gibberish. Enough, at least, to risk kissing Brittany even though she feels like her knees will give out from underneath her at any moment. But now she suddenly thinks she's being too bold. Brittany had made a point of being a gentleman and here she is implying that there will be another, perhaps not-so-innocent, sleepover. Assuming so, even. _Shit_.

Santana drops her head back down and starts banging her forehead against the bench, muttering profanities to herself. She's suddenly tired again, but in a much more unpleasant way. Letting out a small whimper, she lets herself collapse completely onto her outstretched arms, still clutching desperately to her phone. Sleep dances precariously around the edges of her consciousness, holding off just enough to allow Santana's mind to wander over all the ways she has probably screwed things up with Brittany. Suddenly, she feels something move against her hand and she sits up with a jolt, jamming her phone to her ear.

"Hello?!" she half yells into it.

There is no one on the line. Her brow furrows in sleepy confusion as she studies the phone, jabbing her finger at the blank screen. No calls, no messages. Eventually, she looks up to see Quinn staring at her, wearing an expression that is half bewilderment, half concern.

"Um..." she starts, reaching out to lower the phone in Santana's hand towards the bench, "that was just me." She taps Santana's fingers again with her own to demonstrate.

Santana shakes her head, her brain catching up with everything, and lets out a big groan.

"Something wrong?" Quinn asks her, almost rhetorically.

"She hasn't texted," Santana whines, "I scared her off."

"Wasn't she the one who texted you?"

"Yeah, but then I replied..."

"And she didn't write back?"

"No, she did. And then I wrote back and she wrote back, again. But now she hasn't replied to the reply I sent to that reply."

Quinn stares at Santana wide-eyed as the brunette pokes at the Home button on her phone, lighting up the screen each time it dims again. It takes a few moments for the fit of laughter to come tumbling out. Santana's head jerks up, her dramatic glare appearing more comical than menacing. Quinn laughs harder.

"The fuck, Quinn?" Santana hisses, a little hurt.

"I'm sorry, S," the blonde offers between breaths and residual giggles, "it's just... when the hell did you become _that _girl?"

"What girl?" Santana questions. Her tone is defensive but her shoulders are slumped in resignation. She knows exactly what girl. She sighs. "Fine... I'm _that _girl," she concedes, her mouth curling into a genuine frown. "Can you help me, please?"

Quinn lets out another little laugh as she sits down next to Santana.

"Um, okay, let's see... What did your last text say? Was it a question? Maybe it didn't require a response..."

"No, it wasn't a question..." Santana mumbles.

"Great, there you go then," Quinn says triumphantly, as though she solved a great mystery.

"But, there _was_ a question. Which she answered with a question. So, you know... it was still _open,_" Santana pouts, unsurely.

"Right," Quinn's shoulders slump slightly in the same manner as Santana's.

They sit like that for a few moments; Santana composing clumsy follow-up messages in her head, Quinn attempting to figure out texting etiquette for this situation. She is just about to ask Santana what the actual question was when they are both pulled from their thoughts by the familiar sound of vibration. Quinn sees Santana's forehead crease as the brunette eyes her blank phone suspiciously.

"It's yours," she says, nodding her head towards Quinn's phone lying on the bench a few feet away.

Quinn flashes Santana an apologetic look before stretching to retrieve her phone. Santana watches as Quinn smiles warmly, taps out a short reply and sets her phone back down on the bench. When the blonde looks back at her without explanation, Santana quirks an eyebrow.

"I have another date," the blonde states plainly.

"Berry?" Santana smirks.

Quinn just rolls her eyes.

"You could actually learn something here," she says, inclining her head towards Santana's phone and then her own, "Three texts was all that took for us to set up dinner. He asked, I said yes, he gave me a time and place. Done."

"But I did that!" Santana shouts before adding, more calmly, "I asked if she was busy and she replied with something about pancakes."

Quinn's faces scrunches slightly and Santana explains the context.

"Maybe I should just call her?"

"I don't know, S..."

"I mean, maybe she didn't get the message?"

"Um..."

"I could send it again!"

"Santana," Quinn says softly, reaching over to place her hand gently on top of her friend's, "you've gone over to the dark side..."

Santana slumps even further, realizing how pathetic she is sounding, only to be surprised again by the vibration of a phone. Her phone, this time. Most definitely. She looks up at Quinn, who gives her an eager nod of encouragement, before gently tapping the screen to open the text from Brittany.

_Oh :)_

Santana stares blankly at the screen for a full minute.

"'_Oh?_'" she says, finally.

"Huh?"

"'Oh'" Santana repeats, "That's all she wrote. 'Oh'"

"Just 'oh'?" Quinn says, trying her best not to look too discouraged.

"With a smiley face," Santana clarifies. "'Oh' and then a smiley face," she says, showing Quinn the text.

"Smiley faces are good," Quinn says positively, though her inflection almost makes the statement a question. It's been a long time since she's done this.

"But, what's 'Oh' supposed to mean?" Santana asks, genuinely hoping Quinn has an answer. "Like, does it mean 'Oh... now I understand what you meant but I have nothing more to say about it' or 'Oh... that sounds great, I'll bring my pajamas'?"

The pained expression Santana wears is too much for Quinn, who motions to her friend to hand over her phone, as though she wants to see the message, again. Once it's in her hand, she types quickly, hitting Send just as Santana registers what is happening.

"Did you just... ?" Santana is cut off, and her fear is confirmed, as her phone emits the _message_ _sent _tone. Her eyes go wide. She snatches the phone out of the blonde's hand and reads the last text.

_Is that a yes?_

"Quinn!" Santana looks up only long enough to give Quinn a brief glare, the rest of her energy reserved for staring anxiously at her phone. Though it feels like minutes to her, it's only a matter of seconds before she looks back up at Quinn, her eyes full of blame.

"Don't look at me like that," the blonde says calmly, a hint of amusement in her tone, "Give her a minute..."

"I'll give _you _a minute!" Santana threatens.

Quinn's eyebrows pinch together as she shakes her head, "What does that even mean?"

Santana lets out a frustrated groan in response, actually waving her hand around a little as though Brittany's message is somehow stuck and shaking the phone might dislodge it into her Inbox.

"Wow..." Quinn whispers.

"You need to shut the hell up," Santana tells her, pointing the phone at her face.

Just then, it vibrates in her hand and she almost drops it in the frenzy to read Brittany's reply.

_Sorry, Rachel keeps giving me the side-eye. Shouldn't be on phone. YES I'm totally free Friday... talk later x_

The relief washes over Santana almost like a wave of nausea, but the overpowering feeling of joy spreads across her face in a giant smile that has Quinn grinning a smug smile of her own. She waits patiently, raising an eyebrow to Santana when she finally looks up.

"Yes, okay okay, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry... you're a genius. Thank you!"

Satisfied with Santana's level of grovelling, Quinn drops the smugness from her smirk and smiles genuinely at her friend, whose full attention is back on her phone.

"Well, if we're all good here I'm going to take this opportunity to go to the store while Noah's still asleep. The vegetable to junk food ratio might be somewhat reasonable this week. Can you watch her?"

"Huh?" Santana says, briefly lifting her eyes to Quinn, "Oh, yeah, of course."

"Thanks," Quinn says as she rises from the bench and moves to leave.

"Quinn?" Santana stops her.

"Mmm?"

"There's only one kiss... she used two in the first text. Do you think that means something?"

"Oh my God..." Quinn says, rolling her eyes, "Goodbye, Santana."

She shakes her head and pats Santana on the back as she walks past.

Santana's stomach churns. She swivels around on her stool and calls out after Quinn, "What should I write back?!"

She gets no response but the gentle slam of the front door.

* * *

"Good night, Santana."

Rachel waits for a moment with her head slightly tilted before repeating herself. Santana looks up this time, a little dazed, and Rachel shoots her a subtle smirk.

"Daydreaming about something?" she muses, "Or some_one_... maybe?"

When Santana blushes, Rachel giggles. She enjoys being able to call Santana out on her awkwardness. Payback, she thinks, for the years of torment the latina made her endure in high school. She doesn't actually harbor any ill feelings towards Santana over their past, but it's fun all the same. It had been quite a shock for her to discover that not only was Santana Lopez gay, but that she was the girl Brittany had a date with. Given Santana's reputation back in high school, Rachel was both surprised by and wary of the situation. But, she respects Brittany's judgement and appreciates the sacrifices Santana appears to have made, enough to at least consider that Santana may no longer be the girl she knew all those years ago. Or maybe the girl she knew all those years ago was not the real Santana. They all played their roles back then. And clearly Santana had been dealing with a lot.

"You're all done for the day?" Santana asks Rachel, clearing her throat and looking at her watch.

"Yes," Rachel says with a deep sigh, "it's been a long one."

"But, a very successful one," Randy chimes in as he strolls towards Santana's desk, "You sounded spectacular as always, Miss Berry. Allow me to walk you out. Santana, you'll close up?"

It's not really a question.

"Of course."

Randy puts his hand on Rachel's back and gestures towards the door. Rachel smiles warmly at Santana and allows herself to be lead out.

"Does she usually work this late?" she asks Randy, glancing back towards the studio, as they walk through the parking lot.

"Even later, sometimes," he answers without thinking. Catching Rachel's concerned expression he is quick to add, "She likes it, though! I mean, most of the time she _offers _to tidy up after the full day recording sessions."

Randy watches Rachel's face intently. He doesn't want her to think he works Santana too hard. It's true what he said, that sometimes Santana stays back a little later than everyone else.

"Oh?" Rachel isn't quite sure why that surprises her. It's not that she doesn't think Santana would have a strong work ethic; she vaguely remembers Santana putting a decent amount of effort into cheering and... other things... back in high school. Maybe it seems like the behavior of someone with nothing to go home to, and, though she's only just starting to get to know _this _Santana, that doesn't quite fit into the picture that's been painted so far. Seeing the latina with Quinn and Noah, it wouldn't take a genius to realize that her family, albeit unconventional, is her everything.

Still troubled by Rachel's furrowed brow, Randy elaborates further, "She won't be here all night or anything. She's just a good worker. Dedicated, you know? But, I look after her." He watches as Rachel nods and then adds, incidentally, "I'm sure she told you I gave her the day off yesterday..."

Rachel gives Randy a small smile, slightly amused, "I did hear about that, yes."

He grins, satisfied that he impressed her. They come to a stop next to Randy's car.

"Are you sure I can't offer you a ride somewhere?" Randy asks.

"Thank you, Randy, I'll be fine," she says, explaining, "After being cooped up in the studio all day I like to walk home when I can." She touches him gently on the arm and sets off before he can insist. "See you tomorrow."

She's halfway down the block before she realizes she doesn't have her phone. When she arrives back at the studio, she finds the door unlocked and the lights still on, but no sign of Santana.

"Santana?" she calls out as she enters. Nothing. Rachel wanders through the foyer and heads down the hall towards the recording suites. Something catches her attention and she pauses, focusing in on the sound. Realizing what she is hearing, Rachel turns her attention to figuring out _where_ exactly it is coming from, a curious smile creeping onto her face. She continues on slowly, following the sound along the length of the hallway, and ends up outside the control room of the suite she was recording in today, its door slightly but conspicuously ajar. She peers through carefully, but finds it seemingly empty. As she turns away, a row of jumping green lights catch her eye and she takes a second look into the room. The audio level gauges on the mixing desk are moving. She's in the right place_. _She pushes the door open a fraction more and slips stealthily inside.

Santana's back is towards Rachel, but from the way she is moving - her shoulders subtly rising and falling, her hips rocking oh-so-slightly to an unheard beat - she can tell the latina is singing. The sound is almost completely muted in the control room, a thick wall of glass now separating the two of them. Being careful not to make any obvious movements that would draw Santana's attention behind her, Rachel sits down on one of the swivel chairs and wheels herself closer to the desk, watching as Santana moves slowly around the studio. It's one of the larger rooms in the facility, built for maximum comfort as well as acoustics. There is enough room for a full band, when necessary, but today the suite contains two large sofas, a small table covered in sheet music and a single stool situated directly beneath a large microphone that hangs from the ceiling. The door is wide open, explaining why Rachel could hear the singing from the hallway. Santana appears to be tidying up, but seems in no real rush to get the job done. She spins around suddenly and Rachel freezes, Santana's eyes wandering over the surface that divides them. It becomes clear to Rachel that, with the lights off in the control room, Santana isn't seeing much more than her own reflection in the glass.

Encouraged by the cover of darkness, Rachel shifts her attention from Santana to the mixing desk in front of her, quickly locating exactly what she was hoping to find. She places her fingers on the two sliders marked "Live Room" and pushes them up gently. The control room slowly fills with the sound being made on the other side of the glass and Rachel's jaw drops. She looks up to find Santana now standing completely still, just to the left of the microphone.

Her eyes are closed, her hands held up in front of her chest, as she belts out a low, strong note that takes Rachel by complete surprise.

Santana can sing.

Like, _really _sing. There is no music, no other sounds, just Santana's voice. And it is completely captivating. Rachel's arms bristle with goosebumps as she leans towards the glass, her heart beating a little faster than usual. She's drawn into the performance, her mouth still hanging slightly agape, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registers that she is audience to something that perhaps not too many people have been allowed to hear. She nods in realization appreciating Santana's willingness to stay behind, to spend time in this particular room. The acoustics are state of the art and, if you have to sing, there's no better place to do it.

And clearly, Santana _has _to sing.

Almost subconsciously, Rachel is thankful no one made this discovery six or seven years ago. She was certainly not one to share the limelight back then, especially considering it didn't shine particularly brightly at McKinley. Now, however, she feels an excited energy coursing through her and, almost without realizing it, she has turned on much of the equipment in front of her. After a quick check of the controls, and a silent thank you to the audio engineer she had a fling with a few years ago, she smiles to herself and hits _Record_.

* * *

**Wow... it's been MONTHS! So sorry, everyone... those of you still reading, I really appreciate your patience. More to come soon. As always, let me know what you think :) Plenty of Brittana in the next chapter x**

**Special thanks to **worldoftilt** for being an excellent sounding board ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

Rachel continues to listen to Santana work her magic on the difficult melody, making it sound effortless and rich at the same time. She finds herself nodding along, her fingers drumming on the desk, as Santana reaches for notes and hits them with ease. Enjoying the performance though she is, Rachel is almost impatiently waiting for it to end so she can applaud and gush and race into the adjoining room to fawn all over Santana.

Then, suddenly, the singing stops.

Santana freezes.

Rachel freezes.

Seconds pass, Rachel's eyes darting around between herself and Santana and all their surroundings, trying to ascertain whether she is suddenly somehow visible. Santana takes a tentative step forward, her head tilting, searching, and Rachel shrinks down into her chair. But, Santana isn't looking for her. She's not _looking _for anything. She's listening. Rachel picks up on the faint sound of her own ring tone through the control room speakers, just as Santana turns and steps towards one of the sofas. She reaches between the cushions and pulls out a phone - Rachel's phone. Santana smiles but her entire body drops, shaking ever so slightly.

And suddenly, Rachel understands. Nobody knows _this _Santana. In the briefest of moments, when her attention was pulled away from her song by something unknown and her mind entertained the idea that she wasn't alone in the building, this Santana was terrified. Not of an intruder, or anything else sinister, but of the possibility that someone had heard her. Rachel had seen something in her eyes, as she stood there frozen, only to see it disappear with immeasurable relief upon the discovery of the ringing phone. She realizes now that the something she saw was fear. Rachel feels her heart fill with a heaviness that she can't name as she hits stop on the recording. Moments ago she was ready to shower Santana with adoring attention, but now she considers that perhaps it's best to not even let her know she was here. She looks back up at Santana, who is still clutching the ringing phone, her face now showing no traces of the anxiety from moments before.

Rachel can only assume that Santana has figured out the phone belongs to her and, by the smile she wears, it's fairly apparent who's calling.

After taking another quick glance around to ensure she is alone, Santana slides her finger across the screen and lifts the phone to her ear.

"If you're calling to ask Rachel out on a date, I'm going to be really pissed off," she answers, dramatically.

Rachel smiles and shakes her head, listening to Santana's side of the conversation while she starts setting everything back to the way she found it. She locates the track she just recorded and, after a moment's consideration, emails it to herself for safe keeping before trashing the original file. As Santana explains to Brittany why she has Rachel's phone, Rachel carefully sneaks out of the control room and back down the hall towards the foyer, ready to make her entrance again when Santana comes out.

It's not too long before the latina reappears, a bounce in her step and a smile on her face. She's humming to herself, the same tune she was belting out only minutes earlier. Rachel smiles and springs into action, pretending to be just coming in through the front door as Santana reaches the foyer.

"Santana?" she calls out, theatrically looking around even though the woman is clearly in her line of sight.

Santana jumps about a foot in the air, her hand clutching at her chest in a dramatic gesture of surprise.

"Jesus, Rachel!" she exclaims in recognition, "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry," Rachel responds, genuinely. She's trying hard to keep the knowing smile off her face, and failing.

Santana eyes her suspiciously, dropping a stack of sheet music on her desk, "Didn't you leave?"

Rachel points to the object Santana clutches in her hand, "Forgot something."

"Right," Santana nods, looking down at the phone and then back up at Rachel, "Yeah, you left it in the studio. I'm sorry you came all the way back, we were just about to come and drop it off to you."

"_We_?"

On cue, a horn beeps and Rachel spins around to see Brittany's Jeep pulling up outside.

Rachel looks back to Santana, who smiles and shrugs with unconvincing nonchalance. At the sight of Rachel's raised eyebrows, Santana's composure falters and she blushes, mumbling, "She didn't want me to walk home by myself."

The door behind them opens and they both turn to see Brittany sauntering in. Santana's whole body buzzes as she watches the blonde, who somehow appears to be walking in slow-motion, as though through the set of an unrealistically windy music video. She wears an over-sized tank top and a pair of perfectly fitted jeans, her hair loose and wavy, cascading over her bare shoulders. She carries her keys and phone in one hand, the other hand casually placed in her back pocket.

"Oh hey, Rach," she says, coming to a stop next to them, not seeming all that surprised by Rachel's presence. She gives her the briefest of smiles before turning her attention to Santana, unable to help the grin that spreads across her face. "Looks like I made an unnecessary trip."

Santana deflates, her smile wavering.

"I'm kidding," the blonde purrs. She's close enough to Santana now to touch her, the latina's skin on fire just from the thought that she might.

She doesn't.

"I told you I wasn't going to let you walk home this late," Brittany winks. Santana blushes. Rachel rolls her eyes.

"What about me?" Rachel asks Brittany, "You knew I'd be walking, where was _my _offer for a ride home?" Her tone is more playful than serious. But, only slightly.

Without a word, Brittany reaches down and wraps her fingers around Rachel's phone, which is still in Santana's hand. They both tense at the contact. Brittany smiles a request at Santana and the shorter girl slowly releases her grip on the phone. Holding it out to Rachel, without taking her eyes off Santana, Brittany replies, "You might want to check your call log."

Rachel takes the phone and discovers that, before the call that Santana answered, Brittany had already called her twice. Right around the time Rachel had told Brittany she would be finishing up for the day.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

"All good," Brittany smiles. She looks around at nothing in particular and then back to Santana, "do you need any help?"

Santana's brow furrows slightly, "With... ?"

"Packing up? Or can we get out of here?"

Santana isn't sure why, but her affection for Brittany in that moment swells up inside her and warms every inch of her body. She beams.

"I'm done."

"Great," Brittany replies, the smile in her eyes causing Santana to become slightly unsteady on her feet. As Brittany turns to look at Rachel, she puts her hand gently on Santana's back. She smiles at both girls and gestures towards the door. "Shall we?"

* * *

Brittany pulls her car up into the lane and Santana unclasps her seat belt, turning towards Brittany with a smile.

"Thanks for coming to get me," she says shyly, "I mean, I know you were going to come and get Rachel anyway, but..."

"I wasn't really," Brittany cuts her off, "I was only calling her to discuss work stuff."

Santana giggles. Brittany giggles, too.

"You know I'm still back here, right?" Rachel grumbles from the backseat.

Brittany keeps her eyes on Santana, "Yep."

Santana smirks and the two of them gaze fondly at each other for a few moments before Rachel huffs loudly and opens the car door, shuffling out of her seat.

"If you two are gonna start making out, I'm going in to use your bathroom."

Brittany finally takes her eyes off Santana, tilting her head so she can look at Rachel through her open window.

"Any excuse," she smirks.

Rachel rolls her eyes, again, and heads towards the stairs. Santana catches it and thinks for a moment that the diva makes the exasperated expression more than herself and Quinn combined; a task not easily achieved. But, there is also a blush in Rachel's cheeks. Brittany's words register then, Santana realizing that she was teasing Rachel; implying that she is going inside, not to use the bathroom, but to see Quinn. She knows this because it's exactly what she would have said to Quinn in the same situation. Her eyes light up and she lets out a short, soft laugh.

"What?" Brittany asks sweetly, turning back to her passenger.

"Nothing," Santana smiles, "You coming up?"

She doesn't wait for an answer before getting out of the car and walking around to the driver's side to open Brittany's door. The blonde jumps out and lands so close to Santana that they are almost touching. Santana leans forward involuntarily, her hand twitching slightly towards Brittany's. Meeting her gaze, she finds the blonde's eyes boring into her, ocean blue and overwhelming. She drops her head instantly, feeling suddenly embarrassed at how desperately she wants to hold Brittany's hand. It doesn't go unnoticed by the blonde; not the subtle inclination of Santana's movements, not the innocent need in her eyes. She reaches across the almost non-existent space between them and touches her fingertips to the back of Santana's arm, running them slowly down towards her hand. Santana's breath hitches at the touch, her eyes shooting back up to catch Brittany gently biting her bottom lip. As their hands align, Brittany grins and winks at Santana, not entwining all their fingers together but, instead, linking only their pinkies.

Santana's breath hitches, again, Brittany's gentle tug sending her back to their rainy Michigan afternoon. This is how they touched for the first time. The memories flood in as snapshots; images of glistening skin, flowing blonde hair and impossibly tangled limbs all fighting for Santana's attention. She can't hold onto any of them, her mind overwhelmed and dizzy. She has stopped breathing completely.

"Hey," Brittany whispers, drawing Santana's eyes up to her own.

Brittany smiles but her eyes darken as she nods almost imperceptibly. She understands everything Santana is feeling. Santana opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. She presses her lips together and takes in a deep breath, exhaling with a smile.

"Come on," Brittany smiles back, stepping away from Santana and pulling her along by her pinky.

Rachel waits at the top of the stairs, tapping her foot impatiently. Not for Brittany and Santana, but for Quinn. Even though it makes sense, geographically, Rachel was secretly thankful when it became clear Brittany was headed to Santana's place first as she drove the two of them home. She needs to talk to Quinn.

The door swings open, Quinn's expectant smile growing a little wider when she sees Rachel.

"I need to talk to you," the brunette announces brusquely but quietly, dramatically glancing down to see Santana and Brittany ascending the staircase. Her brow furrows as she turns back to Quinn, sighing at herself in exasperation, "But first I actually _do _need to use your bathroom."

She doesn't wait for an invitation, or even really for Quinn to move aside, before sweeping into the apartment. She realizes quickly that she doesn't know where she's going and turns on her heels just as Santana and Brittany walk through the door. Quinn looks between them and Rachel, her mouth hanging slightly open, feeling like she's just been swept up in a mini tornado that came unexpectedly crashing through her living room. She composes herself enough to consider that it may just be the perfect analogy for any moment spent with Rachel and shakes her head with a smile. She's curious about why Rachel _needs _to talk to her and, to a slightly lesser extent, why she and Brittany are even here. First things first.

"Are we having a party?" she asks Santana.

Before the latina can answer her, Rachel pipes up, "These two were about to get all Janet and Rocky in Brittany's front seat, so I decided to remove myself from the vehicle and make the most of the convenient proximity of your facilities." She finishes with an exaggerated arch of her eyebrows.

Santana and Quinn stare blankly at her.

"It's that first door on the left," Brittany motions towards the bathroom and smiles to the other girls as Rachel excuses herself. "You two forgot how to speak Rachel Berry, huh?" she giggles.

"Just a little rusty," Quinn laughs.

Noticing Brittany and Santana's still linked pinkies, she quirks an eyebrow at her roommate. Santana fends off her blush with a subtle throat clearing, but doesn't let go of Brittany.

"Rachel and I were at the studio late, Brittany came to pick us up so we wouldn't walk home alone," she explains, not finding it necessary to go into detail about the forgotten phone. Quinn nods, glancing at Brittany before smiling at Santana.

"You're right," she offers, a sly twinkle in her eye, "she really_ is _a gentleman."

There's nothing Santana can do to stop herself from blushing this time, so she just drops her eyes to the floor in embarrassment and mumbles something that no one hears. She doesn't lift her head until she feels Brittany's breath, right by her ear.

"Busted," the blonde whispers.

Santana turns an even deeper shade of crimson, her cheeks feeling uncharacteristically warm under Brittany's attention, and cursing herself silently for reactions she has no control over. She is working on something clever to say when Rachel emerges from the bathroom.

"Ready to go?" Brittany asks with a smile, though her tone would suggest she is reluctant to do so herself.

"No!"

Rachel and Quinn answer together, matched in both volume and vehemence. They surprise themselves, and one another, their own shock reflected in the wide eyed expressions worn by Brittany and Santana. Glances dance quickly around the room and Quinn lets out a short but not quite awkward giggle.

"It's just... I mean, you're here now," she explains herself, looking at the brunette next to her and at the blonde hovering very close to Santana's side, "you might as well stay for a drink. Tea?"

A pause.

"Wine?"

All three sets of eyes on her light up at the second option and she laughs again, heading into the kitchen. Santana moves to follow but Rachel stops her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"I'll help her," she says warmly, "You relax, you've had a long day."

As usual, she doesn't wait for a response. She catches only a glimpse of Santana's wide-eyed stare as she turns away and follows Quinn into the kitchen.

"How's the recording going?" the blonde asks when she notices Rachel behind her. She takes four glasses from the cupboard and turns her attention to the wine rack.

"Fine, fine," Rachel brushes off the question, determined to steer the conversation in her own direction, "Um… why wasn't Santana in Glee Club?"

Quinn grabs onto a random bottle and turns to face Rachel, who is talking in low voice full of drama. And maybe a hint of accusation.

"Huh?"

"Santana. Why didn't you get her to join Glee?"

Quinn shakes her head slightly, a little baffled by the seemingly left field question. She has to take a moment to think back.

"I did," she realizes, the vague recollection of a locker room conversation finding its way out from the mountain of high school memories that she usually keeps buried. "I mean, I asked her once… and I think she considered it, but obviously changed her mind at some point. I just figured singing wasn't her thing."

Rachel is stopped by realization before she can scoff. Her jaw goes slack as she gazes at Quinn, her expression a mix of disbelief and excitement.

"You haven't heard her sing," she whispers.

It's not a question.

"Sure I have," Quinn counters, her brow furrowed and her tone only the tiniest bit defensive.

"I don't mean along with the radio, Quinn," Rachel explains, leaning on the counter as Quinn rummages through the drawer for a corkscrew, "or in the shower or whatever. I mean _really _sing."

Quinn finds what she's looking for and sets to work on the cork in the wine bottle.

"Actually," the blonde says, speaking as the realization dawns on her, "Santana doesn't really sing. Ever."

Quinn stills, her forehead creasing as she tries to recall a time when she may have heard Santana sing. She's certain it must have happened, in all their years together, but now that she's really thinking about it she can't seem to come up with a single memory.

"That's so weird," she says quietly, mostly to herself. And then, "Hold on… why are you asking about this?"

Rachel inhales deeply and smiles. There's a hint of smugness in the expression... and a whole lot of joy.

"That girl has music in her soul."

* * *

"So, what are we doing on Friday?"

Brittany doesn't look up when she asks the question, staying focused on tracing her finger over the lines on the palm of Santana's hand. They are both sitting cross-legged on the couch, facing one another. Santana stares intently at Brittany's face, the blonde girl's tongue poking out slightly between her teeth. She breathes evenly but her insides are in a state of frenzy. The touch of Brittany's finger on her palm is careful and light, but her other hand, holding Santana's securely in her lap, grips almost too tightly. One is sending shivers across her skin, the other is making it burn.

It takes a full minute for Santana to find her voice. "It's a surprise."

"What's a surprise?"

The girls look up as Quinn and Rachel approach, laden with glasses, wine and smiles that betray a shared secret.

"Where Santana is taking me for our date," Brittany answers Quinn with a smile, straightening up so that she is facing the other girls as they sit. She loosens her grip on Santana's wrist and tickles her arm a couple of times before disconnecting the contact altogether. Santana pouts inwardly but makes an effort to pull herself out of the Brittany stupor, also turning to face everyone in the room. She smiles at Quinn, who pours the wine and hands a glass to Brittany with a laugh.

"When Santana says something is a 'surprise' it means she hasn't figured it out, yet," Quinn smirks.

"That's not true!"

Santana fills her denial with conviction and volume but the laughter that comes back at her makes it fairly clear that no one buys it.

"So, what are we doing then?" Brittany grins, nudging Santana's ankle with her foot.

"I'm not telling!"

"Because she doesn't know," Quinn nods, as though Santana's defensiveness has all but proven her point. She hands her a glass of wine, giggling again as Santana huffs and slumps back on the couch.

"You'll just have to wait until Friday," Santana mumbles, directing the comment lazily towards Brittany.

"Wait, your date is on _Friday_?" Quinn asks, her tone ten shades more serious than it was a moment ago.

"Yeah…"

"S, _my _date is on Friday," Quinn reminds her, "You promised you would look after Noah."

"Shit. Isn't there anyone else that can do it?"

Both of them look at Rachel.

"I'm singing at the Hollywood Bowl."

Quinn smiles and Santana rolls her eyes, "Of course you are."

Santana turns to Brittany, placing a hand on her knee with a sad, apologetic smile.

"It's fine," Brittany says in her matter-of-fact way.

"I'm sorry, Britt… we can reschedule."

"No I mean it's fine, we'll babysit."

She's not offering to help Santana. She's not making some sort of compromise. It is simply Brittany being Brittany, completely content to spend time with Santana, whichever way it comes, without even a moment's consideration.

"You want to babysit with me?" Santana's face scrunches into a curious half smile.

"Sure. Noah's awesome. It'll be fun."

Santana is about to tell her that she really doesn't have to, that she'll make it up to her, but the smile on Brittany's face is electric and piercing and certain. The decision was made before the question could even take hold.

"Settled, then," Quinn announces, topping up everyone's wine.

"I'm sorry," Brittany tells Santana.

"For what?"

"Ruining all your plans."

Brittany's delivery is perfectly deadpan but not one of them misses the joke being made at Santana's expense. Quinn erupts with joyful laughter and Rachel allows herself to giggle, too. Brittany nudges Santana playfully, erasing the pout from her lips in an instant.

* * *

**I know this is short... but Chapter 15 is coming really soon._ Date_ night :D Thanks for reading... xx (and thanks again to **WorldOfTilt**)**


	15. Chapter 15

Santana loves those weeks at work that just seem to fly by. One minute it's Monday morning and you're grumpily making a double strength pot of coffee in the office kitchen, the next it's Friday night and you're standing at your kitchen bench pouring a drink. She decides she likes it even better when the drink she's pouring is for a certain blonde dancer that happens to be sitting in her living room. Something tugs at her insides, a warm tension pulsing in her veins.

She gathers up the three glasses in front of her and makes her way out of the kitchen, pausing to take in the scene in front of her. Brittany sits on the couch, one leg either side of Noah who is perched on the ground in front of her. Santana watches as her "date" crosses her hands repeatedly over one another, weaving Noah's golden locks together in an elaborate braid.

"Let me know if I pull too hard, okay?"

"Okay."

They stay silent for a moment, Noah's eyes intently focused on the television. Brittany, too, seems fairly invested.

"I love this part," she whispers to Noah.

"Me too!" Noah replies, not even close to a whisper. "Eric is so handsome," she states.

"He is," Brittany agrees.

"Ariel is really pretty, too. For a mermaid."

"For a mermaid," Brittany giggles.

"Mommy's friend Rachel should get married on a boat," Noah suggests.

"You think so?"

"It looks fun," the girl states, wriggling around to face Brittany, "don't you think?"

"Sure."

"Are you married?"

"No, I'm not."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Nope."

"Neither does my mommy. Or Auntie Tana. But, if she did she would have a girlfriend, not a boyfriend."

Brittany's eyes open a little wider as she peers curiously at Noah.

"Is that right?"

"Yep," Noah nods, oblivious to Brittany's intrigued smile. She climbs up onto the sofa next to Brittany, "Do you like boys or girls?"

Brittany smiles warmly at Noah, delighted at her curiosity that transcends societal convention.

"I like people," she tells her.

Noah considers Brittany's answer for a moment. Brittany cocks her head slightly to the side and awaits the child's response. After a few moments, Noah lifts her hands up and runs her small fingers over the braid.

"How do I look?"

Brittany laughs instantly, "Like a princess."

Noah beams and Santana, still watching from the edge of the room, feels a new kind of warmth tugging at her heart. Quinn and Santana made the decision together to never keep anything from Noah. When she started asking questions, they gave truthful answers. Santana swells with pride. It takes her a moment to remember she is present in this moment, that she is not just watching something far away that she can't touch. Suddenly desperate to be close to both of them, she walks towards Noah and Brittany, unable to conceal her smile.

"Ok, who ordered the lemonade?" she asks, coming to a stop in front of the sofa.

"That's mine," Brittany answers, straight-faced and expectant.

The other two glasses are filled with wine.

"No, that's mine!" Noah squeals in delight, jumping to her feet on the couch and punching Brittany in the arm.

"Ouch!" Brittany flails, melodramatically, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Better give me the wine, babe."

Her voice is giggly as she fights off her tiny assailant. She looks up at Santana with a smile. Santana can't smile back. Her expression is frozen, her whole being at a complete standstill. What is surely only seconds feels like minutes as Santana's mind plays Brittany's last sentence over and over, stalling each time on her last word. In some ways it's such a generic term of endearment, yet on Brittany's tongue, in Brittany's voice, casual and wonderful and just so, it feels like nothing and everything at the same time. Brittany quirks her head to the side.

"Or you can keep all the drinks for yourself?" Brittany jokes, "If you're really that thirsty, Santana, I'm sure Noah and I can go without."

Noah giggles and jumps down from the sofa, "I can get us drinks, Brittany, I know how!"

"I bet you do," Brittany tells her.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, Noah moves over to the TV, removing the disc from the DVD player and selecting a new film.

"Something with singing!" Brittany calls to the girl, not taking her eyes off Santana. She winks at her and Santana manages to shake herself out of yet another Brittany-induced mini-meltdown.

Santana leans down and places all three glasses on the chest in the middle of the room. She leaves Noah's lemonade there and passes Brittany a wine, taking one for herself and moving towards the other sofa.

"What are you doing?" Brittany smiles, "Come over here, there's plenty of room."

Santana grins and sits down next to her, snuggling into the blonde's side calmly, as though it doesn't make her heart race a million miles an hour. Noah grabs her lemonade and joins them on the couch, settling in on the other side of Brittany. The opening credits of _The Wizard of Oz _begin to roll.

"Oh," Santana says, apologetically, "you only just watched this, Britt… we can put on something else."

"Are you kidding? This is my new favourite movie," she beams, high fiving Noah and placing her hand gently on Santana's knee. She looks ready to burst with happiness and Santana considers for a moment that Brittany right now is the very picture of how she is feeling herself.

Noah's eyelids open and close with heaviness as the film gets underway, Brittany leaning over to take the lemonade from its precarious position in her tired hands.

"Finally, it's mine!" she whispers dramatically. Santana laughs as Brittany takes a sip before placing it on the chest and leaning back into Santana's side.

"By the way," she whispers to Santana, her eyes locked on the screen as Dorothy launches into the second verse of _Somewhere Over the Rainbow_, "this is totally our song."

Santana gulps.

"It… it is?"

"It is for me. You fell asleep right before it started… and for a few minutes all I could hear was you breathing and this song. It was really… nice."

She says the word 'nice' as though it means a million other things and Santana's heart all but stops. Brittany shrugs, not expecting or needing a response, and shuffles down so that she can comfortably lean her head on Santana's shoulder. She entwines their fingers, pressing herself as close to Santana as she possibly can, and they watch the movie like that, in silence, neither girl able to speak. Or breathe.

As the film comes to an end, Noah stirs next to them.

"Tanaaa," she grumbles.

"Bed time, monkey."

It's well and truly _past _Noah's bed time, but she has been asleep almost all of the movie so Santana isn't too concerned. Still, she takes a quick glance between her watch and the door, as she gets to her feet, and Brittany catches it.

"She won't be home for a while," Brittany reminds her, "They were going to dinner then to see some band, remember?"

Santana smiles at her gratefully, scooping Noah into her arms carefully.

"I'll be right back," she whispers, "Why don't you choose another movie?"

* * *

"You were supposed to pick a movie," Santana grumbles.

"This is way more fun!"

"Yeah, for _you_."

When Santana returned to the living room after tucking Noah in, she had found Brittany crouched by the open toy chest, a giant grin on her face. She was clutching onto a tattered Monopoly box, her wiggling eyebrows issuing the challenge.

"Don't blame me for you dismal board game skills," Brittany teases.

Santana rolls the dice and counts aloud to seven as she moves her token along the board, landing on another of Brittany's properties. She groans as Brittany claps in delight. The game had escalated very quickly, once they began, with Santana being conservative and Brittany buying everything she could. Subsequently, the blonde ended up owning most of the board.

She picks up the corresponding card from the pile in front of her and chuckles.

"Four-fiddy," she says.

Santana looks down to her rapidly diminishing finances.

'Shit," she mutters, "I don't have it."

On her last turn, Santana had pretty much handed over all her remaining money to Brittany.

"That's okay," Brittany says with a kind smile. Santana smiles back, thinking she's been given a reprieve, before Brittany continues, "Give me your shoes."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your shoes," she repeats, seriously, "You haven't got any money and you owe rent. Give me your shoes."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Well, what are your other options, Santana? You've only got a handful of properties… and you should probably hang on to those."

Santana starts to laugh but quickly stops, her smile fading as she realizes Brittany is not kidding at all. She considers her options and knows that Brittany has a point. If she starts mortgaging her properties she will soon have no means of income. She's screwed.

"One shoe," she offers.

"Both. They come as a pair."

Brittany's expression is fixed and stern. Although it appears to be daring Santana to challenge her, her powerful stare also makes it fairly clear that the effort would be futile. Santana thinks for a moment before dropping her shoulders and rolling her eyes. She pulls off her shoes and all but throws them at Brittany. The blonde's face softens in an instant, her grin growing wide as she claps her hands together.

In her next three turns, Santana loses her socks, her watch and her earrings.

"Giving up?" Brittany laughs as Santana stands with a loud huff.

"I need more wine," she retorts, snatching up the empty bottle and walking to the kitchen. Brittany laughs.

"Okay. Well, take your time…" she calls out after her, "I need to count my money."

She continues to laugh, imaging the glare that is being sent her way from the kitchen. A few minutes later Santana returns with another bottle of wine and resumes her position on the floor.

"Um, what are you doing?" Brittany questions.

"What?"

"Santana, you put a sweater on. You can't _add _clothes!"

"I was cold."

"It's like 75 degrees in here. Take it off."

Santana shakes her head adamantly. Even though Brittany knows she would win this argument if it were to continue, she decides not to worry about it.

"Fine," she concedes, "I'll get it off you in a minute anyway."

And she does. Santana's next turn sees her relinquish her sweater, the following one takes her shirt. She is left in her jeans and a tank top.

"Oh, this is fun," Brittany grins, "I wish you had to pay me rent in real life."

"Brittany, I _do _pay you rent in real life."

"Oh yeah!" the blonde beams, her eyebrows doing a cheeky little dance, "Maybe you should start missing _real _payments..."

Santana shakes off the blush before it even has a chance to appear and tilts her head forward to peer at Brittany through her long, dark eyelashes. For a moment she forgets about the game, feeling that familiar warm tension tug at her insides.

"Brittany, you know if you want me to take my clothes off... you just have to ask."

She smirks, her voice low and husky. Brittany only misses one beat.

"Or kick your ass at Monopoly, it seems."

Having her attention drawn back to her pathetic performance makes Santana squirm. Brittany's heart clenches at the sight of her pouting; it's an expression that has been tattooed on her memory since the very first time she saw her, bursting through the classroom doors, rain-soaked and very grumpy.

"Besides, that isn't entirely true," she adds.

"What isn't?"

"That I just have to ask," Brittany blushes.

Santana's brow furrows even further in confusion.

"I asked you to take your clothes off once before, remember?" Brittany offers. "And you didn't."

Santana smirks, again.

"Not the first time."

"No," the blonde's blush deepens, "not the first time."

Brittany smiles at the memory, not taking her eyes off Santana as she rolls the dice. She moves her car forward six spaces, making little _vroom vroom _noises as she goes. She does it every single turn she takes and Santana, in her frustrated losing state, hates that she finds it so endearing. The move lands Brittany in jail, Santana unable to hide the small amount of satisfaction it gives her.

"I'd wipe that smile off your face," Brittany suggests, handing over the dice, "it's pants or top for you next."

Santana scrunches her face up.

"Maybe I'll land on one of mine," she shoots back. They both know it's doubtful.

Santana takes a deep breath and shakes the dice around in her fist, waiting until Brittany groans at her dramatically before letting them go. Both girls lean in as they watch the dice tumble across the board. She rolls a five and a six. As she moves her token across the spaces, Brittany counts, giggling when Santana passes her in jail. A sinking feeling begins to come over Santana.

"Six, seven, eight, nine, ten…"

_Pennsylvania Avenue, Short Line, Chance… Park Place… Luxury Tax…_

She stops moving.

Brittany stops counting.

"You rolled an eleven, Santana."

Brittany's voice is menacing. Santana gulps, pushing her token over to the next space. _Boardwalk_. She decides that blue is no longer her favourite color.

"Stupid dog," she mumbles.

"Eleven! Don't blame your token, Santana."

"What do you want," she asks, grumpily, "tank or jeans?"

"Well, you see that little red, plastic thing, Santana? That's a hotel," Brittany is almost singing her words. She's enjoying this way too much. "That's $2000 rent right there. I'm going to need both."

"Both?"

"Both."

Santana's jaw drops open involuntarily. She closes it again in an instant, pressing her lips firmly together and crossing her arms over her chest.

"There's no way."

"Take your clothes off, Santana."

"This is extortion."

"This is Monopoly."

Santana shakes her head and looks down at her clothes and then over to Brittany, still fully dressed.

"I thought you were a gentleman."

Brittany grins.

"And I thought you said I just had to ask?"

Santana can't argue with that. And Brittany can tell by the look on her face that she knows it. Resigned, Santana stands and undoes the top button on her jeans.

"Well, you could have been nicer about it," she mumbles, wriggling her legs, letting the pants fall to the floor. She kicks them over.

Brittany keeps her eyes on Santana's face.

"You're right," she says as she stands, her voice low and soft, "I'm sorry."

Stepping over the Monopoly board and taking hold of the bottom of Santana's tank top in one swift motion, Brittany whispers, "At the very least, I should help you."

Santana raises her arms without a word and Brittany lifts the tank top up and off. Still, the blonde's eyes remain locked on Santana's. Their bodies aren't touching, but they are close enough that Santana can feel the heat between them. Her skin flushes with the warmth, the tension that tugged at her insides earlier becoming an insistent pulse low in her belly. A small hum escapes her lips as she tries to calm her heartbeat and Brittany flinches in front of her, her eyes dropping to Santana's lips for the briefest of moments.

"Thank you," Santana manages, her voice cracking slightly.

"Anytime."

Brittany holds the tank top up between them and Santana takes it gently from her hand. It's now that she takes a moment to consider the fact that she is standing in front of Brittany in nothing but her underwear. The last time they were in a similar situation, it was Brittany in this particular state of undress, Santana unable to keep her eyes from wandering over every inch of the blonde's body. Now, Brittany stares unwaveringly at Santana's face, having not glanced down once.

"You're so beautiful," Brittany says suddenly, her voice strong but low.

Santana's heart jumps into her throat, rendering her incapable of any kind of verbal response. Brittany searches Santana's dark eyes and feels herself blush. They are both breathing heavily, irregularly.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Brittany asks.

Santana swallows thickly, desire flaring in the pit of her stomach.

"I have some idea, yes."

Brittany inhales deeply. She licks her lips, and bites down a little on the bottom one, as her mouth curls into the faintest of smiles. Her blue eyes remain steady, piercing.

"Please, Britt…" Santana breathes.

"What?"

"Look at me," Santana begs. Her skin is on fire. "Touch me."

Brittany's eyes drop in an instant. Her breathing crashes to a stop and she waits only a moment to reach forward slowly. Her hands don't even make contact before Santana's lips find hers, the latina pulling her into a fierce embrace, full of need that has been building for hours. Days. _Years._

Brittany's hands find Santana's sides, resting on the small curves at the top of her hips. Santana presses into Brittany further and the blonde's fingers dig slightly into her skin, causing them both to moan. Santana's arms wrap tightly around Brittany's neck as she pushes her mouth so intensely against the blonde's that her lips begin to buzz. Brittany pulls back a fraction, taking Santana's top lip between her own. She sucks on it incredibly gently, the contrast between the kiss and the firm grasp of her hands sending a shiver down Santana's spine.

Her pulse races, her skin burns, her very core aches with desire. She wants. She wants everything. So badly. No touch is long enough, no kiss is deep enough. When Brittany's tongue brushes over her own she feels like dying. The blonde's wandering hands push against her in all the right places and she wants. She wants more. Her heart clenches, suddenly terrified that no amount of Brittany will ever be enough. She wants Brittany like she's never wanted anything else. Touching, kissing, grasping, aching. It's everything, and nothing. She needs more.

She pulls away from Brittany, both of them desperately gasping for air, their bodies heaving. Santana unwraps her arms from around Brittany and presses a hand to the girl's chest, feeling her fierce heartbeat drum against her palm. This is what she wants. Always. To feel Brittany's heart beating against her, for her, with her.

"Hi," Brittany says through a breathless smile.

"Hi," Santana echoes.

Brittany's hands soften at Santana's sides, another shiver causing goosebumps to erupt across every inch of her.

"Maybe it _is _a little cold in here," Brittany worries, feeling it on Santana's skin and poking out her bottom lip.

"Huh?" Santana says, taking a moment to catch up. "Oh," she laughs, looking at her arms, "I don't think this has anything to do with how much clothing I have on."

"Santana, you don't have _any _clothing on."

"I'm well aware of that."

"Me too," Brittany chuckles with cheeky smirk. She leans in and kisses Santana so softly, so affectionately, that it seems completely incongruous. Santana's heart all but explodes.

"Quinn will be home soon," the blonde whispers, reluctantly.

"I know," Santana sighs.

Brittany bends down and retrieves Santana's discarded shirt from the floor. She kisses her again, reaching out past Santana and opening the shirt so she can slip her arms in.

"Thanks," Santana mumbles into Brittany's lips.

"Welcome," the blonde mumbles back.

The ferocity of their kisses starts to build again slowly as Brittany fumbles with Santana's buttons. Santana attempts to help her do up the shirt but Brittany swats her hands away. Santana giggles, continuing to kiss Brittany and finds a way to busy her own hands; running her fingers back and forth around the waist band of Brittany's shorts. Occasionally, deliberately, Santana's fingers brush against Brittany's skin and the blonde reacts each time. Her body jolts with every touch, every pulse.

They fumble and kiss and pant and moan. They make each other unsteady but hold each other up. They are moments away from losing themselves to another world.

Pulling them back from the precipice is the sound of a key in the front door. Their eyes fly open and they jump away from each other, dropping to the floor on either side of the Monopoly board.

"Damnit," Santana curses, her eyes desperately scanning the floor around her.

"Here," Brittany says, throwing her her jeans.

They land in her lap. She doesn't have time to put them on before the door swings open, so she straightens them out a little and conjures up her best casual smile, hoping Quinn won't notice that she is wearing her jeans like a blanket.

She looks over to Brittany whose smile _is _actually casual. She shakes her head as her heart struggles to regain a steady rhythm.

"Hey," is all she can manage to say to Quinn. It's probably all she would usually say anyway but she feels as though she needs to keep talking. She clears her throat but Quinn cuts her off.

"Hey," she responds, smiling at both girls and continuing on towards the kitchen. "You guys are playing Monopoly?" she calls back to them, a hint of amusement in voice.

"Something like that," Brittany giggles. She grabs the dice and throws them across the board, calculating the move and driving her token onto _Short Line. _It's one of Santana's.

"Oh!" the latina squeals, clumsily picking up the deed card to figure out the rent. Brittany owns the other three railways but Santana doesn't let that dampen her excitement at finally collecting some money.

"25 big ones, baby!" she hollers, catching herself too late on the last word and blushing furiously after it comes out. It's obviously just an embellishment, but Brittany grins at her anyway. They stare at eachother for a few moments until Santana realizes she's still waiting. She stretches out her hand.

"Cough up. Twenty-five dollars."

"You really want my money?" Brittany asks her, a hint of mischief flickering in her eyes.

"Of course I do," Santana answers, "Hand it over, Pierce."

Brittany laughs, gathering together the small paper notes and passing them to an over-excited Santana. The wide grin she wears falters, Brittany's strange expression piquing her curiosity.

"What?" she asks the blonde.

Brittany shrugs, "I would have given you my shirt."

Santana's mouth falls open, knowing full well from running her hands over Brittany's back earlier that the girl is not wearing a bra. Unable to form a coherent thought, she shakes her head a couple of times. Brittany giggles at her.

Quinn re-emerges from the kitchen with an empty glass and rounds the sofa to pour herself some wine from the girls' bottle.

"Who's winning?"

She looks down to the board, then to the relatively clear floor in front of Santana and the piles of money and cards in front of Brittany. "Never mind," she chuckles.

"I think Santana was just about to make a comeback," Brittany teases, "shame it's getting so late."

Something flashes in her eyes, but Santana can't read it, her brain still malfunctioning from the idea of Brittany taking her shirt off.

"I should get going," Brittany continues, gathering up her haul and placing everything carefully back in the box. She rises to her feet and takes the few steps over to Santana, who shifts slightly before Brittany puts a hand on her shoulder.

"No, don't get up," she tells her gently, "I had fun tonight. Thanks." She leans down and kisses a speechless Santana on the cheek before moving her lips right up to her ear.

"Next time, take your own advice," she whispers, slowly, "… _you just have to ask_."

She straightens up and gives Quinn a quick hug, telling her that she'll have to fill her in on all the details from her date next time. She waves to the girls as she closes the door behind her, Santana vaguely waving back, still overwhelmed and intensely frustrated.

"Um, Santana?" Quinn says, turning her attention back to her roommate, "Why aren't you wearing any pants?"


	16. Chapter 16

"Hello? Earth to Santana?"

"Hmm?"

"I just asked you why you aren't wearing your pants."

"What?" Santana shakes her head and looks back and forth between Quinn and the piled up jeans in her lap, "I... um... what?"

Quinn shakes her head and takes a sip of wine, "Actually, you know what? I don't want to know."

She takes a seat on the sofa next to Santana, who continues to sit motionless, staring at the door, and starts relaying the events of her evening. Santana doesn't hear a word of it.

"Quinn, I'm sorry," she blurts out suddenly, jumping to her feet, "I love you, I want to hear all about it, but... I have to go!"

Santana races towards the front door, hopping from one foot to the other as she tries to pull on her jeans as she moves.

"What?" Quinn asks, slightly bewildered.

"I just... I gotta go."

A glimmer of an apology flashes across her face as she swings back around to the door and all but throws herself through it. It slams behind her as she steadies herself, the momentum that carried her across the threshold causing her to continue into the railing. She pauses only a moment, taking a deep, bracing breath, and turns to head down the stairs.

And there, at the bottom of the staircase, leaning ever so casually against the wall with a giant smile on her face, is Brittany.

"What took you so long?" she teases, straightening herself up.

Santana's brain needs a couple of moments to catch up. When it does, and she thinks she can manage to do so without falling down the entire flight, she begins to descend the stairs.

"I had to put my pants back on," she retorts, coming to a stop two steps shy of the ground. Here, she is slightly taller than Brittany.

"Did you really?" Brittany quirks an eyebrow.

Santana blushes. In a flash Brittany's arm is around her waist and her lips are pressed against her open mouth. Every thunderous heartbeat, every shiver, every pulse from earlier, rushes back at once and both girls melt and moan into each other, over each other, for each other. Without breaking away from the kiss, Brittany wraps her other arm around Santana's waist and tilts back with a forceful jerk, causing Santana to jump instinctively and wrap her legs around the blonde's waist. Santana gasps into Brittany's mouth, surprised. Brittany repositions her arms underneath Santana's legs and takes a few steps backwards. With Santana curled securely around her, she turns and begins to walk away from the stairs. It seems to take no effort at all. Santana is impressed. And insanely turned on. She kisses Brittany with renewed fervor, her insistent fingers tangling in the dancer's hair.

Brittany lets out a small grunt and pauses for a moment, pulling her lips away from Santana.

"I'm sorry, am I hurting you?"

"No, babe... I just can't see where we're going," she answers, walking more steadily now. She is panting softly and it has nothing to do with the exertion of carrying Santana.

"Where _are _we going?"

"My place."

Santana's eyebrows pinch together. Brittany lives about a 10 minute drive away but she is walking them in the opposite direction of her car. They round the corner of the building and Brittany comes to a stop at the studio door. She lowers Santana gently to the ground and leans forward to place a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose. Leaving one arm wrapped around Santana, she fumbles in her pocket for the key, withdrawing it with an unnecessary flourish and a cocky raise of her eyebrows. Santana giggles silently and drops her head, blushing deeply, feeling as though the heated pulse that throbs inside her is completely inappropriate when Brittany is being so adorable.

She finds herself inside the studio, all of a sudden, unaware that she had even started walking again. Surprised, in fact, that she is still _capable _of walking at this point. Her legs feel like jelly. And she's not sure that her heartbeat has been anything but irregular since Brittany arrived for babysitting. As though reading her mind, Brittany's arms circle around her from behind and one of her hands lands just above her left breast, palm pressed to her erratic heart. Humming into her ear, Brittany begins to sway Santana gently from side to side. Santana brings her hand up to fold over Brittany's, who in turn lifts her fingers up to tangle them all together. With a little squeeze, Brittany locks on and doesn't let go as she pushes Santana from behind and spins her around three times in quick succession. They both laugh quietly; Santana in surprise, Brittany with sheer delight.

It's only moments before the laughter and smiles fade away and the only noises that remain are heavy breaths and shuffling feet, the tension between them suddenly so fervent that it thickens the air and they struggle to move. Pressed against each other, they make their way slowly towards the room at the back of the studio in a silent dance, Brittany assuming the lead. Santana's heart kicks up a gear and its heavy beating fills her senses. When Brittany's breath catches suddenly she wonders if the blonde can't feel it, too. It pounds in ear, against her chest, between her legs. Brittany's grip slackens slightly as they cross the threshold of the room, staggering into the darkness. The stumble separates them and they stand apart for a moment, allowing their breathing to calm, their eyes to adjust. After a while they can see each other more clearly, but neither one of them is any calmer.

The dark silence is full of fire.

Something lingers in the air between them. It's the reason Santana came after Brittany. It's the reason Brittany didn't leave. A simple question.

Brittany fiddles with the stitching along the bottom of her shirt. She waits, eyebrows raised, lips smiling, heart stopped.

"Brittany?"

"Yes, Santana?"

"Take your clothes off."

And then, adding only just enough inflection to make it a question, "Please?"

Brittany's cheeky smile grows fractionally larger before falling away almost completely.

"No."

Santana's heart doesn't just drop, it free falls. And falls and falls. She panics that she has read all the signs wrong. But, how could she?

_You just have to ask_.

That wasn't a sign, it was pretty much a blatant instruction. Wasn't it? _Oh God. _Her eyes scan the floor as though she might find answers there somewhere, at her feet, by her heart.

Brittany acts quickly, placing a finger under Santana's chin, lifting her head up gently. When Santana allows her eyes to lift as well, the blonde smiles.

"I want you to do it for me," she whispers.

Santana blinks. And again. Brittany's grin reaches her eyes and Santana shakes her head. She wants to be able to act annoyed, to show some trace of the tension that has been building inside her or a hint of the delicious torment Brittany's teasing causes, but she can't. The affection in her eyes betrays her completely.

"Okay," she says, not going straight for Brittany's clothes but instead kissing her softly. She holds their lips together for a few moments, sharing the warmth that gathers there every time Brittany looks at her. When she pulls away, Brittany has gone very, very red.

"I'm sorry," the blonde mumbles, prompted to continue by Santana's confused expression, "for teasing and stuff."

"Please don't apologize," Santana smiles. She kisses Brittany, again, quickly. When their eyes meet, Santana searches the deep blue for nothing in particular, and adds, "you're doing it perfectly."

Brittany cocks her head slightly to the left, "Doing what perfectly?"

Santana sighs, "Everything."

She wants to elaborate but really, what more is there after everything?

_Brittany. _Brittany is more than everything.

"Brittany," Santana breathes, aloud. An answer for herself, an invitation for Brittany.

Brittany responds, instantly. She crashes into Santana with such force that it knocks the wind out of both of them and they have to stop themselves almost immediately. Santana's hands move roughly from Brittany's back to her hips, her fingers curling around the now familiar waistband of Brittany's shorts. She tightens her grip to stop herself from just pulling them off. First things first. Pushing firmly against Brittany's hips, she forces her to walk backwards until she collides with the desk. Santana keeps her hands where they are, pinning Brittany in place, and grins slyly. With a deliberate lack of urgency she starts to move her fingers, walking them gently across the line where Brittany's shirt meets her shorts. Carefully, slowly, painfully.

Brittany lets out a groan of frustration. In response, Santana takes hold of the bottom of Brittany's shirt and, with a quick jerk of her head, motions to Brittany to lift her arms. The blonde does so with much less grace than she usually does everything else, Santana giggling at her as she lifts the shirt to just above Brittany's belly button. She stops there and stares at Brittany, the blonde's eyes frantic and cerulean, finding almost too much pleasure in watching her squirm. She leans forward, pressing their lips firmly together, and lifts the shirt the rest of the way off, waiting until the last minute to break their kiss. She inhales deeply, taking in the sight of Brittany standing before her.

Brittany's chest rises and falls in time with Santana's racing heartbeat, a thin sheen of sweat spreading out over her skin, betraying the heat underneath. She stands with her legs slightly parted to brace herself against the desk behind her. Santana moves to stand between them, reclaiming her grip on Brittany's shorts and pulls her forward slightly.

She only needs to tug at the shorts once before they fall to the floor on their own. Brittany grasps the edge of the desk either side of her hips and lifts herself up a fraction, kicking the shorts off her feet and lowering herself back down so she sits slightly perched on the edge. Her feet are still on the ground, offering only a little support when Santana moves even closer. As close as she can. Their hips lock together, Santana pressing into Brittany with a gentle yet determined thrust. Santana's hands rest at the small of Brittany's back, just above the waistband of her underwear. She slips a finger underneath the elastic and drags her nail across a small patch of skin. A whimper escapes from Brittany's throat and Santana smirks, pushing harder with her hips and leaning forward, forcing Brittany to lean back a little. Santana bends with her, clawing her fingers into Brittany's back as her face dips to within an inch Brittany's chest.

She drops her head and presses her lips wetly against Brittany's bare skin, slowly trailing her tongue up between Brittany's breasts, all the way to her collarbone. Her senses flood with salt and cinnamon.

"Oh God," she whispers.

"What is it?" Brittany asks, low and heavy.

Santana takes a few breaths and stretches up to put her mouth right by Brittany's ear.

"You still taste exactly the same."

Brittany's legs buckle so instantly beneath her that she feels certain she will be forever grateful that she is sitting the way she is. She takes one hand off the desk and roughly threads her fingers into Santana's hair, whispering desperately, "I need you to kiss me."

Santana complies, willingly bringing their mouths together. She kisses Brittany with complete abandon, pushing her tongue past the blonde's eager lips and feverishly searching for some kind of rhythm. They find it together, quickly, their wet lips moulding to each other a hundred different ways. Brittany keeps herself braced against Santana, one hand in her hair, the other still clutching to the edge of the desk. Santana's hands wander greedily over Brittany's back and sides, coming to rest momentarily at her hips before she breaks their kiss and bends down slightly, hooking her forearms behind Brittany's knees. She gives a little nudge and Brittany instinctively jumps, pushing down on the desk. She only has a split second to balance herself, now fully sitting on the desk, feet off the ground, before Santana's lips are on her again. On her mouth, her neck, her collarbone. As Santana pushes into her, Brittany's hips tilt up and her legs automatically wrap themselves around Santana's, her ankles locking together behind the latina's thighs. It allows both girls some much needed leverage.

It shouldn't be unexpected, with such impassioned energy between them, but when Santana's hands find Brittany's bare breasts, the blonde gasps in such delicious surprise that Santana stills for a moment, worried that she somehow hurt her.

"God, Santana," Brittany grunts, "you have to touch me."

"I am touching you," Santana responds breathily into Brittany's neck, resuming her exploration of Brittany's impossibly soft, intoxicatingly hot skin.

"Not there."

Santana's hands stop moving, not of her own doing. Brittany sits forward, her fingers gripping tightly around both Santana's wrists. She lifts Santana's right hand up to her mouth, kissing each of her knuckles slowly. Leaving her mouth pressed wetly against the last one, she locks eyes with Santana and pleads silently as she begins to lower Santana's left hand down to where she needs it most. The throbbing between her legs has become suddenly unbearable. She lets go and leans back again, bracing her hands flat against the desk.

"Please," she whispers, almost inaudibly.

"Are you..." Santana doesn't need to finish the thought, her fingers running over Brittany's soaked underwear, "... oh. God."

Brittany blushes furiously, but her eyes stay locked on Santana, unapologetically lascivious. Suddenly, Santana shoves her hand past the elastic of Brittany's underwear and Brittany bucks her hips impulsively and violently, shifting forward slightly on the desk. Foregoing further pretense and unnecessary foreplay, Santana plunges two fingers deep inside Brittany, who screams with surprised gratification. Her eyes remain desperate as Santana begins to slowly move in and out, Brittany's need for complete release causing her hips to rock against Santana's hand involuntarily. She wraps one arm around Santana's neck, as Santana uses her free hand to brace them on the other side, and the girls steady themselves, against the building rhythm, together.

Santana's head swims. Brittany was so ready for her. Her own need pulses between her legs, building with each desperate grunt and pant that comes out of Brittany as she pushes her hips up into Santana's hand. The dancer's breaths are hot and ragged against Santana's ear, increasing in volume as Santana increases her pace. She feels Brittany tremble, her fingers digging into the back of her neck.

Not wanting Brittany to come just yet, she slows down.

Brittany's muscles relax slightly, her hips slowing to match Santana's rhythm. She unclaws her fingers from Santana's neck and runs her hand down the length of Santana's back, bringing it to rest lightly on her ass. Her eyes glaze over with desperation and desire, a questioning glimmer flashing through them as she meets Santana's gaze.

"I feel like I've thought about doing this, again, almost every day for the last six years," Santana admits, biting her lip shyly. It's a strange sensation, she thinks, to be suddenly bashful under the attention of someone you have your fingers inside. She blushes, "I just want it to be..."

Brittany cuts her off by gently canting her own hips, and pulling Santana's closer, so that Santana's hand, lodged in between, presses hard into both of them. They moan in unison.

"It is..." Brittany whispers, "I don't think I ever _stopped_ thinking about this. About _you_."

Brittany looks at Santana so deeply, with such an intense mix of desire and affection, that Santana stops moving completely. She decides that blue is still her favourite color.

Brittany just smiles at her and waits, though she is aching to her very core. She lets out a loud breath as her heart rate starts to settle. It jolts Santana out of her trance and she flashes Brittany a wicked smile before quickly finding Brittany's sweet spot with her thumb and grinding down hard. Brittany is unprepared. She lets out a guttural scream, almost coming undone in an instant.

"Fuck, San-"

Suddenly, Santana clamps her free hand over Brittany's mouth.

"Shit, Brittany..." she gasps, breathless and slightly panicked.

Brittany's eyes dart around, searching Santana's face for an explanation. Gently taking her hand away from Brittany's mouth, Santana looks towards the ceiling. After a second or two, Brittany understands. If Santana could hear her phone ringing the other day, there's no doubt that Brittany's screams would also carry all the way upstairs.

"I only just remembered," Santana whispers tensely, her whole body automatically releasing itself slightly from its tight hold against Brittany.

Not having a bar of that, Brittany almost growls, "I can be quiet. I just need you to keep going." Her words are desperate and commanding as she presses back into Santana, "and I need you to kiss me, again."

Santana doesn't hesitate. Their lips crash together as Santana starts to move again, taking only moments to build up to, and surpass, the pace that had Brittany on the brink only a minute ago. Brittany leans back further, tilting her hips up to allow Santana better access. The latina takes full advantage and pushes in and out of Brittany with such ferocity that it almost causes Brittany pain not to cry out. She lets out desperate whimpers with each thrust bringing her closer and closer. It's a delicious agony, for both of them. Hands and lips are everywhere at once; bracing, grasping, falling, catching. And then, as if all of a sudden, Santana's breathing halts, frozen in a moment of delirium, as Brittany jolts violently against her. The blonde wraps herself around Santana, her body trembling as wave after wave crashes through her. Finally, she slackens completely and Santana doesn't think she has ever felt anything so indescribably gratifying as having Brittany's weight against her in this moment. She is warm and wet and heavy, completely spent and exceptionally beautiful.

Santana takes deep breaths, attempting to steady her pulse. After a few moments, Brittany nuzzles her nose against Santana's neck and let's out a satisfied groan.

"Mmmm, Santana..." she purrs, sleepily, "... that was incredible."

She presses two short, wet kisses onto Santana's collar bone before nuzzling back into her neck. Santana giggles. Although her own need still lingers, she can't help but melt into Brittany a little.

"Well, now I just want to wrap you up in cuddles until you fall asleep," she says, kissing Brittany's forehead, "but I don't think this desk is going to make for a very comfortable bed."

Before she can really think about how easy it will be for them to sneak back in upstairs, Brittany pulls away from her and flashes her a big grin.

"That folds out," she beams, pointing her eyes towards a big red couch in the corner of the room.

"There's a couch in here?" Santana growls, incredulously, "There's a couch in here and you let me do that to you on the _desk_?"

Brittany giggles, "It must have been buried in boxes last time you were in here, huh?"

Santana just shakes her head, glaring at Brittany.

"In case you didn't notice, Santana... I wasn't complaining."

Santana stays quiet, but smirks, pulling Brittany forward by the hips and helping her get her feet back on the ground. They stumble over to the corner as one, all giggly and tangled together.

"And just quietly," Brittany continues, falling backwards onto the couch, pulling Santana down on top of her, "I'd let you do that to me anywhere."

Santana's smile vanishes as she swallows thickly, "Noted."

They stare at each other for a few moments, heart rates slowly starting to climb again. Brittany closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. When she opens them again her eyes are dark and full of an urgency that Santana can't quite read. Brittany holds her gaze and pushes up into Santana with a small grunt.

"You need to get off."

"Oh, sorry," Santana mumbles, pushing herself abruptly off the blonde. As she scrambles to her feet, Brittany begins to laugh.

"That's not at all what I meant," she giggles, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the couch to face Santana, "But, actually... this works."

Her hands shoot out and grab Santana by the hips, pulling her into position right between her legs. The top button on Santana's jeans is inches away from Brittany, directly at eye level, and she stares at it like it's a prize. She shoots a quick glance up to Santana's face. The brunette's mouth hangs open a little, her mind and body in the middle of playing catch up. Overwhelming desire returns to both of them in an instant and Santana's legs wobble slightly. Brittany grips onto her thighs and grins.

"Don't move," she whispers, chuckling softly at the deja vu.

She undoes Santana's jeans and lowers them to the ground, Santana placing her hands on Brittany's shoulders as she steps gently out of them. With her fingertips now hooked around the waistband, Brittany slowly rakes her nails down both Santana's legs, taking her underwear along with them. Santana steps out of those, too. And closer to Brittany. Brittany's breath hitches. She waits a few agonizingly long moments before leaning forward so that her lips are almost on Santana's skin. Almost. Brittany's hot breath against her is too much for Santana, a shiver rippling through her body that causes her legs to buckle.

Brittany steadies her immediately, her arms wrapping around the back of her thighs, her mouth pressing hard against her clit.

"Oh, fuck..." Santana growls.

Brittany hums, her head swimming with a strange mix of memory and familiarity. She trails her tongue up and down, her senses filling with all things Santana. She aches, in a good way. Hungry, desperate, destroyed.

Santana is sure she almost loses consciousness about a dozen times as Brittany continues to lavish her with the most delicious attention. She has no idea how she remains upright. As she starts to tremble with the first waves of her impending release, she clamps her hands down on the dancer's shoulders. Brittany grips onto her legs even tighter and takes her mouth away, pulling Santana forcefully down into her lap.

"Hold on, baby," she whispers, entering Santana with two fingers.

Santana stifles a scream, curling herself around Brittany completely, and falls apart in an instant. She rides out her orgasm in reverent silence, gently rolling her hips against Brittany's hand.

As their heartbeats follow each other into the calm afterglow, both girls begin to giggle. Brittany grabs onto the blanket draped over the back of the couch and leans back to lie down, taking Santana with her. She covers them with the blanket and sighs contentedly, Santana pressed warmly against her chest. As they start to drift off, Brittany giggles again.

"What?" Santana asks, sleepily.

"I got your clothes off twice tonight," Brittany smirks, "But, I didn't have to ask the second time."

Santana laughs and Brittany continues, "But, the funny part is... you actually shouldn't have taken them off the first time. In Monopoly, you can't collect rent while you're in jail. You didn't owe me anything."

Brittany continues to laugh as though it's the sneakiest thing she's ever done. She tires quickly though and it's only a few moments before her heavy eyelids remain closed.

As Brittany falls asleep with a grin on her face, Santana leans in to press a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I know," she whispers.


	17. Chapter 17

Santana nuzzles into Brittany's neck and for a few minutes she is 17 again. The sound that escapes her is almost a purr. She giggles. Brittany does the same.

"Why so smiley?" the blonde asks, pressing her lips to Santana's forehead.

"Ssh, listen," Santana responds.

Both girls still as Brittany cocks her head slightly, jutting out her ear. She smiles.

"It's raining," she beams.

"It's raining," Santana confirms in a happy whisper.

It has rained thousands of times in her life but, for the past 6 years, the familiar sound of water against a roof or a window has been accompanied by a subtle pang, deep within Santana's soul. Sometimes she felt it, sometimes it barely even registered. But, it was always there, tugging at her memory, at her heart, insisting that she never forget.

"Mmm," Brittany hums, tightening her arms around Santana's tiny frame, her mind wandering an eerily similar path to Santana's, "It's like it was only yesterday."

Santana has thought about the day that she met Brittany so many times that part of her agrees with the blonde. Sometimes the memory can be as fresh in her mind as what she had for breakfast that morning. But then there's the flip side. The years that she was without Brittany created an undeniable, and eventually permanent, chasm of loneliness, of something so obviously missing. It scares her now, suddenly, that she could be affected so deeply and irrevocably by this girl. Even when she was more of a stranger than she is now. But, she can't deny the truth of the situation; everything had been on hold for Santana, while she waited for Brittany. Even if she didn't know it. So, while in moments like these, with the rain beating down, that day can feel like it was only yesterday, other times it feels like a lifetime ago.

As though reading her mind, Brittany squeezes Santana with a chuckle and brushes her lips against her ear. "Having said that," she whispers playfully, "don't think for a second that I'm not going to ensure we make up for all the lost time."

And with that, everything else melts away. Santana tilts her head up to meet Brittany's lips with her own. They kiss passionately as the sound of the rain washes over both of them. They're so wrapped up in each other that it may as well be days before they break apart at the sound of Brittany's growling stomach. Santana laughs and begins to push herself off Brittany.

"Noooo," the blonde grumbles, holding tight to Santana's waist.

"Come on," Santana says soothingly, "I owe you pancakes."

Brittany's unspoken resolve to stay put on their little couch-island for the entire weekend wavers at the mention of pancakes and Santana seizes the opportunity. She wriggles out of Brittany's grip and sits up, removing both herself and the blanket that was covering Brittany's bare chest. She smirks and a warm blush creeps across Brittany's face, contradicting her defiantly unabashed expression. Santana smiles proudly and removes the blanket completely, wrapping it around her waist as she gets off Brittany and off the couch. She pulls on her underwear and jeans and turns back to Brittany, who beckons her with the bluest bedroom eyes she has ever seen. The blonde is completely naked and Santana's mind goes blank. She closes her eyes.

"You need to stop."

"Stop what? What am I doing?" Brittany giggles.

"Look at you! You don't need to _do _anything," Santana responds, peeking through one fractionally open eyelid. Brittany is staring at her, lying completely still. Santana huffs and presses her eyelids shut tighter.

"You're the one that got up," Brittany laughs, "and took the blanket with you."

Santana pokes out her tongue and tosses the blanket on top of Brittany as she turns to find the girl's clothes.

"I don't know why you're bothering," Brittany teases, "I'm pretty sure we're going to spend the entire weekend getting started on that whole making up for lost time thing."

"Is that so?" Santana smiles to herself, searching the room.

"Mmmhmm," comes Brittany sultry reply.

"Well, if that's the case," Santana says, retrieving Brittany's shorts from under the desk, "you definitely need to eat."

She turns around to see that Brittany hasn't exactly covered herself up with the blanket; she's using it as a pillow. The blonde wiggles her eyebrows at Santana.

"Exactly."

"_Food_, Brittany!" Santana laughs, shaking her head, "I mean food."

She surveys the collection of clothes in her hands; underpants, shorts, shirt. The thought _she wasn't wearing a bra _gets stuck in her brain like it's a broken record. She shakes her head at herself and throws the clothes to Brittany.

"Get dressed, we're going upstairs."

"But, I'm not hungry for pancakes," Brittany whines, her traitorous stomach growling again.

"Well, you can stay here if you want. But, I need to go upstairs to correct Noah about something she told you last night."

Brittany finally sits up, squirming reluctantly into her clothes, blinking in confusion as she pulls her shirt on over her head.

"What do you mean?" she frowns.

"I was listening to the two of you while I was in the kitchen," Santana admits, walking over to the couch, "when she told you I didn't have a girlfriend."

Brittany's heart sinks. Every possibility races through her mind. Unable to grasp onto any of them properly, she drops her head and mumbles, "I don't understand."

"Well..." Santana continues, standing with her legs pressed against the couch, "Is that still the case?"

"Santana, that was only a few hours ago... how can it have cha- Oh!"

It takes an epic eyebrow raise from Santana but, Brittany finally catches on. When she does, her eyes and smile both go impossibly wide. Santana collapses into a fit of laughter, and onto Brittany, as the blonde wraps her arms around her legs and pulls her back onto the couch.

* * *

They miss breakfast. And lunch. But they eventually make it upstairs.

Quinn rolls her eyes at the two of them, as they sheepishly enter the kitchen, and switches the coffee pot back on.

"You don't have rehearsal today, Brittany?" she asks as the dancer makes herself comfortable at the bench.

Something in Quinn's voice makes Brittany think there is more to her question than general politeness. She considers for a moment that it might be curiosity as to Rachel's plans rather than her own, but then she notices the wistful glance Quinn throws in Santana's direction.

"Nope," Brittany answers with a smirk, "but that's not to say I haven't had a bit of a work out today."

Santana's eyes go wide as Brittany giggles nonchalantly. Quinn pretends to ignore them.

"I'm going to have a shower," Brittany continues, jumping off her seat.

"There are clean towels in the hallway cupboard," Quinn offers immediately.

"Oh," Brittany smiles, "Cool, thanks."

Santana leans in to whisper as Brittany passes her, "Do you want some company?"

Brittany grins.

"Yes," she whispers back, kissing her brand new girlfriend on the cheek, "But, I think someone else wants some, too."

She inclines her head towards Quinn. Santana follows her gaze and then looks back to Brittany, mortified.

"Not _that _kind of company, honey," she giggles quietly, "Just trust me."

Santana eyes Brittany curiously as the blonde squeezes her hand and leaves the kitchen. She turns to face Quinn who is watching Brittany intently, her head tilting slightly as her gaze follows the dancer out and lingers until she has disappeared down the hall. She turns to face Santana and finds her roommate wearing an odd expression.

"What?"

"You tell me," Santana answers, pouring them both a cup of coffee, "There's something on your mind."

Quinn stares at Santana for a minute before slowly shaking her head, "No, there isn't."

"That was pathetic," Santana teases, "When did you become such a bad liar?"

Santana is clearly joking around but Quinn retaliates with an old-school Fabray glare and icy silence. The blonde starts to walk out of the room.

"Wait," Santana says softly, catching Quinn's arm before she can leave, "Are you angry at me for something?"

"How could I be?" Quinn shoots back, "I've hardly seen you enough for you to have been able to do anything to piss me off."

Santana is a little taken aback. Quinn's tone is a combination of anger and hurt and sadness. And something else that Santana can't quite place. Santana takes a moment to consider Quinn's response.

"Hold up," she says, lowering her voice, "Is this about...?"

She points in the direction that Brittany had disappeared only moments earlier and Quinn drops her head with a subtle shrug of her shoulders.

"Are you for real?" Santana asks with just a hint of incredulity. Quinn is obviously upset and Santana doesn't want to make things worse. But, at the same time, she's quickly becoming very annoyed that Quinn might actually be begrudging her the time she is spending with Brittany.

"Whatever," Quinn mumbles, "It's fine."

The blonde goes to walk away again but Santana grips tighter to her arm.

"Ow, Santana, let go of me," Quinn grumbles, "I said it's fine. I'm fine."

"Well, maybe _I'm _not fine," Santana spits.

Quinn is slightly surprised by Santana's sudden change in tone. She wrenches her arm away from Santana's grasp but her eyes soften. Santana calms herself and holds her hands up in a gesture of peace.

"Look, Quinn," Santana begins, her voice calm but determined, "I guess I've been spending a bit of time with Brittany lately and I'm sorry if you feel like maybe that's time that has been taken away from you? But, it's been like _a week_. I feel like maybe you're being a tad irrational."

Quinn opens her mouth to respond but Santana holds up a finger.

"Uhuh, no. You're going to have to get used to Brittany being around more. Or me being out more. I love you, Quinn... but I'm not okay with this. I'm not okay with you not being okay with my girlfriend. So, if this needs fixing then we're going to do it right now."

Santana's voice has gotten progressively louder and more insistent and now she's breathing quite heavily. Quinn raises an eyebrow as a smile begins to creep into the corner of her mouth. Santana keeps her face stony and points dramatically to the stool next to her, "Sit."

Quinn can't help but fully smile. She salutes Santana mockingly and obeys, taking a seat with deliberate ceremony. Santana's brow creases deeply and she shakes her head in confusion.

"Why are you smiling at me like that," she asks, a little puzzled, "I thought we were fighting?"

"We were," Quinn confirms warmly, "but, for no good reason. I'm sorry."

"Okay," Santana responds cautiously, drawing out the last syllable, indicating she's not convinced. The tone of this whole conversation has changed about a dozen times within a very short amount of time so she's a little unsure of how she should be feeling. She registers that Quinn is now positively beaming at her.

"What?"

Quinn's smile hits her eyes, "She's your _girlfriend_?"

Santana's blush is instant. As is the feeling that explodes in her stomach and spreads through every inch of her body.

"Yeah," she mumbles sheepishly.

"Too cute, S," Quinn says, placing a hand on Santana's knee, "I'm so happy for you. Really."

"Thanks," Santana replies, returning Quinn's warm smile. Despite the not-really-a-fight fight that they just had, Santana knows Quinn really means it. Which makes her realize that there is something else on Quinn's mind altogether. She opens her mouth to ask, but the blonde beats her to the punch.

"I'm sorry about, you know..." she trails off, waving her hand around vaguely in the air, "I just... I really wanted to talk to you about something when I got home last night and you disappeared straight away."

"I'm sorry," Santana blushes.

"No, it's okay, I get why you did," Quinn reassures her, "Totally understandable."

Quinn smirks at her best friend and Santana's blush deepens. She kind of loves seeing Santana like this. Vulnerable, bashful and completely smitten. She sighs.

"What is it, Q? What's going on with you? Is it..." Santana suddenly draws a blank, "... fuck, what's his name?"

Quinn shakes her head, knowing that this would have been case and point for her if they were still having the Santana-not-around-enough argument from earlier. Santana pulls a comically remorseful grin and she lets it slide. She doesn't blame the girl's attention span for not getting much further than Brittany lately. And she's genuinely so happy for her best friend that she'd forgive her just about anything right now. Santana has been lonely long enough, she deserves this.

"Mitch," Quinn responds.

"Really?" Santana responds, her tone mostly sardonic.

Quinn scowls slightly and Santana laughs apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Q, but I don't how I could have forgotten that name... it's horrible."

"It's a nickname," Quinn shoots dismissively, "Can we get back on track here, please?"

"Of course, sorry," Santana composes herself and adopts her best supportive friend manner, gesturing for Quinn to go on.

"To answer your question, yes," Quinn continues, "it's about him."

"What did he do?"

Quinn hesitates to answer for only a second, but it's long enough to spark something in Santana. Her posture straightens abruptly as she continues, much louder, "Did he hurt you?"

Santana is now standing, her protective instincts kicking in as her eyes scan over Quinn.

"No, no, God nothing like that," she assures, placing her hand on Santana's shoulder and forcing her to sit back down, "Calm down, Lima Heights."

Santana relaxes a little but remains on the edge of her seat, waiting for Quinn to elaborate.

"Last night..." Quinn starts, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, "he asked me something. I mean, he asked if I would _do _something."

"Ok, no..." Santana says, suddenly defensive in a very different way, "If this is a weird sex thing..."

"Jesus, Santana," Quinn sighs, "get your head out of the gutter. I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you here. This is really important."

"Sorry, but you can't blame me for jumping to that conclusion. Usually when a guy asks you to _do_ something, it's in that ballpark..."

"Ok, I phrased it badly... he _wants_ something."

Santana raises an eyebrow; _wants_ is not much better.

"Santana!" Quinn shouts, standing up and pacing across the kitchen.

"Sorry, sorry..." Santana soothes, laughing quietly to herself, "Ok, well what is it then? Does he need money?"

Quinn shakes her head.

"Is he a fugitive?" Santana continues, "Does he want you to hide him? Lie for him? Did he ask you to rob a bank?"

Quinn shakes her head at all of Santana's suggestions, each one getting slightly more ridiculous and Quinn getting more and more frustrated. And, the way Santana reads it, a tad hysterical.

"For the love of god, Fabray, just fucking tell me. You look like you're about to strangle someone. Whatever it is, whatever this guy is making you do, we'll deal with it together. Come on, it's okay, it can't be that bad."

Quinn pauses her pacing for a moment to give Santana a look that simply says _yes, it can_.

Santana throws her arms up in resignation. She has no idea what it could be but she's starting to really worry that Quinn has gotten herself into a really bad situation with this guy.

"Quinn..."

"He wants..." Quinn cuts her off, walking back to her stool and taking a seat with a deep breath, "... he wants to meet Noah."

Santana stares at Quinn for a minute, the blonde's eyes still frantic.

"That's _it_?" Santana shouts, finally, "Damnit, Quinn... I was really starting to get worried."

"_That's it_? Santana, that's huge!" Quinn is clearly distressed, "I can't. I can't do it. It's too much."

"Ok," Santana says softly, rubbing both Quinn's knees gently as they sit facing each other, "it's ok. You're right, it _is_ a big deal. But, there's no need to get overwhelmed by it. Obviously, there's a lot of _new territory_ kind of stuff going on around here at the moment, so everything seems a little intense. But, if you're not ready for this guy to meet Noah, then he doesn't meet Noah. Simple."

"Yeah..." Quinn mumbles, holding in the tears that have been threatening to flow for the past few minutes.

"But," Santana continues, "you know that Noah takes to new people very easily. She's met a whole bunch recently... I mean, she really liked Rachel, right? And I think she actually _prefers _Brittany to both of us."

Quinn laughs and Santana smiles at the thought of Brittany. It's true, Noah has always gotten along very well with pretty much everyone.

"She doesn't get that from you," Quinn jokes.

"What do you mean," Santana deadpans, "I _definitely _like Brittany more than both of us."

Santana winks and they share a light-hearted chuckle at her expense before the Latina continues.

"Do _you_ like the guy?"

"Huh?"

"Mitch. Do you _like_ him?"

"I guess so," Quinn blushes, "I mean, I don't know him all that well, yet."

"What does he do?"

"He manages... um... something. I'm honestly not sure," Quinn admits, "I know that's awful but he just always seems so much more interested in talking about _me_. So that's mostly what we do. He's obviously fairly successful, though, because he pays for _everything_... and we haven't been slumming it, by any means."

"Well, I don't know how much more you need to know, Fabray... he's rich and he doesn't spend the whole time you're together talking about himself. He sounds perfect."

Quinn lets herself laugh but brings the tone of the conversation back to serious fairly quickly.

"That is definitely all I would have needed 5 or 6 years ago..." she contemplates, peering at Santana with reserved pointedness.

"No, I know," the brunette offers, "You have other things to consider now."

"Like," Quinn takes in a deep breath, "if he's any good with kids. If he even _likes_ kids!"

Quinn is suddenly overwhelmed again and she lets out a loud huff in frustration.

"Hey," Santana says softly, smoothing her hand gently over Quinn's hair, "He's the one who asked to meet her, right? He's obviously not scared of them. And the only way you're going to figure out the rest is-"

"If I see them together," Quinn finishes.

"Exactly."

Quinn gives Santana a small smile, clearly not completely sold on the prospect of setting up a meeting with her daughter and her new _friend_.

"We can be there, too," Santana suggests, "if you like?"

Quinn's smile grows wider and it has nothing to do with Santana's offer. Smirking, she raises an eyebrow to her best friend.

"_We_?" she echoes, "You're doing the _'we'_ thing already?"

Santana's eyes widen and Quinn giggles cheekily. She takes in the sight of her best friend and forgets all about her own problems for a moment. The blush in Santana's cheeks is pure joy to see. The girl looks guilty as hell, like she has just been caught red-handed stealing from the cookie jar. Quinn shakes her head, smiling as she pats Santana on the knee.

"You're screwed."

* * *

Santana pauses at the bathroom door and attempts to settle the butterflies in her stomach. She vaguely considers that they probably should have finally settled down on their own after last night but obviously that's not how these things work. Or, at least, how _this _thing works. This thing. She sighs. _This thing_ is her and Brittany. Together. It's still surreal for her. Brittany, for all intents and purposes, was a nameless fantasy up until just over a week ago. Santana takes a moment to think about how she's no stranger to the way life can change so abruptly, smiling bittersweetly to herself.

She leans in and listens for sounds from behind the door. There's nothing. She takes a breath and knocks.

"Britt?" she ventures tentatively after a few moments, opening the door a fraction. Still nothing.

She calls out for Brittany again before pushing the door open completely to reveal an empty bathroom. And not only is the room empty but there is no sign that the shower has even been used. No water on the screen, no steamy mirror, no wet towel. No Brittany.

Santana's shoulders slump in disappointment. They don't stay that way for long.

"Looking for me?"

Santana spins around to find Brittany grinning at her.

"Always," she responds hoarsely. The sight of Brittany in a tight tank and shorts, her wet hair clinging to her neck and shoulders, floods the brunette's senses with nostalgia and lust.

Suddenly, they're kissing. Santana's fingers find Brittany's hair, tangling themselves hungrily in the damp, golden locks.

"You're wet," she murmurs against Brittany's lips.

"Mmhmm," the blonde confirms with a lascivious hum, pressing her hips suggestively into Santana.

Santana giggles, "You're _hair_ is wet."

Brittany nods at the clarification and moves her attention to Santana's neck, sucking gently at her pulse while her hands roam greedily over her back and sides.

"I told you I was going to have a shower," she says dismissively, continuing her assault on Santana's neck.

Santana can't gather her thoughts together properly with Brittany's mouth on her like this.

"But..." she pants, "... the... you..."

Brittany digs her fingers firmly into Santana's ass, and the brunette just about falls over, but her niggling curiosity stops her from giving in to the moment completely. Finally, she fists Brittany's hair so roughly that the blonde yelps and stops what she's doing. She meets Santana's eyes, unable to read the strange expression.

"I'm sorry," the blonde offers, "was I supposed to wait for you in there?"

She wriggles against Santana and wiggles her eyebrows, but Santana doesn't respond in kind. Instead, her brow furrows.

"Where?"

Brittany's brow transforms to mirror her girlfriend's, "Um, in the shower?"

"No, I mean _where_ did you shower?" She points into the bathroom, "Obviously not here."

"Oh," Brittany answers with a smile, "downstairs."

She gets to kiss Santana again for all of about three seconds before the brunette pulls away.

"In the locker room?" Santana asks with a pout, "Babe, you know you were totally welcome to use our shower."

"No, it's okay," Brittany assures her, "I had a towel and some shampoo and stuff down there so it just seemed easier."

She presses their mouths together again, sighing almost immediately as she feels Santana's lips mumble something else against her own. She pulls back slightly.

"And a change of clothes?" Santana questions, having only just realised that Brittany is not wearing the same outfit that she had on last night.

"You know, you're asking an awful lot of questions for someone in your position," Brittany breathes, pushing Santana right up against the door frame and settling a thigh between Santana's legs, "Wouldn't you rather focus on something else?"

Santana's breath catches and she clears her throat. Suddenly, nothing but the pressure between her legs feels relevant.

"It doesn't work that way," she manages to get out.

"No?"

"No," Santana confirms, "what you're suggesting results in me losing focus altogether."

"And that's a bad thing?" Brittany questions, tilting her head to one side in mock confusion.

Santana shakes her head with a lustful smile, swallowing thickly. She pulls Brittany into the bathroom.

"Definitely not."

* * *

Santana sits with one of her legs tucked up underneath the other, gazing absentmindedly at the blonde opposite her. If she were to pay attention to her thoughts for a moment, she would find them wandering back and forth over all the little things about the girl that make her smile. If she were to pay attention to anything else going on in the room, she would find that the blonde is now staring straight back at her.

"What?"

The voice pulls Santana from her reverie and she latches onto the first thought she finds.

"How did you know?"

Brittany's face scrunches up the way it does when she's genuinely trying to work something out. Santana continues immediately, realizing she didn't give the poor girl anywhere near enough information.

"Earlier," she clarifies, "how did you know to give me some time with Quinn?"

"Oh," Brittany smiles, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. On anyone else, the gesture would seem almost like a subconscious expression of pride, of smugness. But, Santana already knows that Brittany's delight comes from a completely different place. Everything is always _just so_ with her. There are no tricks, no bells and whistles. No motives for anything she does other than to make sure everything is as it should be. Always with such poise. Such ease. It's one of those things about the girl that makes her smile.

"Because you've only been back in my life for a week," Brittany explains, "and I already know how crappy it feels to be away from you for even a minute."

Santana's eyes narrow as a smile creeps onto her face. Brittany smiles wider and continues.

"I guess I recognized it in Quinn," she says, "... that feeling."

Santana nods, a gentle warmth spreading through her body. Brittany watches her for a few moments, feeling like she never wants to stop looking at that face.

"She wanted to talk to about something," the blonde adds, without much inflection.

It's not a question exactly - she doesn't want to pry - she's just acknowledging that it wasn't only about Quinn missing Santana. Brittany doesn't want Santana to ever feel guilty about their relationship, even the tiniest bit. And she wants Santana to know that she understands Quinn will sometimes come first.

Santana nods, "I'll tell you about it later."

"It's okay," Brittany smiles, "you don't have to."

Santana knows she means it and she smiles appreciatively. She leans over the table, towards her girlfriend.

"Well, I might have to," Santana talks quickly and quietly, glancing towards the kitchen, "The gist of it is that Quinn may be introducing Noah to the new guy she's been seeing and she's a bit anxious about the whole thing, so I thought-"

"We could be there when it happens," Brittany cuts her off with an excited smile.

Santana's eyes go wide and all the warmth in her body pools around her heart. Brittany's comment wasn't preemptive, she hadn't guessed what Santana was going to say. She was just making her own suggestion. _We_. Santana realizes she is suddenly giddy. It must show.

Brittany giggles, "What?"

Before Santana gets a chance to answer, another blonde and brunette bustle into the room, carrying plates and bowls and various other things.

"You're red," Rachel tells Santana bluntly as she puts her hand on Brittany's shoulder, leaning over to place a large salad on the table.

Santana scowls through her blush, but her eyes are still smiling. Brittany chuckles as Rachel moves towards her seat, but not before running her fingers through the strands of Brittany's hair that her hand landed on.

"Brittany, your hair is so silky," she says, taking her seat, "New shampoo?"

"No," Brittany shakes her head with a cheeky smile.

"Then what's your secret? It's so clean and soft..." Rachel persists.

Brittany continues to smile and looks directly at Santana, "I had two showers today."

Quinn lets out a small chuckle and Rachel doesn't need to ask why when Santana's face turns a deeper crimson.

"Oh," Rachel says, blushing herself, "oh my."

Santana shakes off her own blush and scoffs at Rachel.

"Oh, please," she challenges, "As if you're still that much of a prude. Why did you even ask us over for dinner if you didn't want to hear at least a little about this?"

She gestures between herself and Brittany, smiling seductively at the blonde.

"I just thought the start of a new relationship was something to be celebrated," Rachel explains, "Love is beautiful."

_Love_ is beautiful. It's just one of those things that people say. Rachel didn't even think about it before she let the words come out. She didn't mean anything by it but Santana's heart skips a beat and she looks away from Brittany instantly. The mood in the rooms shifts suddenly and Rachel quickly continues with a clearing of her throat.

"And," she urges, charging her wine glass, "how amazing the universe is, to reunite old friends the way it has with all of us. To old friends and new relationships."

The four girls raise their glasses with big smiles and Santana brushes off her irrational uneasiness to meet Brittany's gaze. The blonde is looking at her with a warm smile, nothing hidden behind those deep blue eyes. She turns away as Quinn leans over the table, first clinking her glass against Rachel's, "To old friends," and then Brittany's, "and new relationships."

Brittany nods a thank you.

"And to your new relationship, too," she returns, her tone full of sincerity and support.

Quinn's smile falters as she settles back into her seat, her eyes dropping to her lap. Brittany frowns and shoots Santana a questioning look. The Latina shakes her head, understanding no more that her girlfriend.

"Your new _what_?" Rachel asks.

Her tone is light and curious, giving away little of the surprise that shot through her at Brittany's statement. Santana and Brittany quickly raise an eyebrow to each other before both turning their curious gazes to Rachel, then Quinn.

"Oh, um..." Quinn mumbles awkwardly.

Rachel continues to stare at her, "You're seeing someone?"

Quinn can't seem to put a sentence together and, even though she's not sure why it's the case right now, Santana is well accustomed to recognizing when her best friend needs to be rescued.

"Oh, that?" she chimes in, casually, "No, I just mentioned to Brittany that some guy asked Quinn for her number the other day. No big deal."

"Yeah, I was just taking a dig," Brittany adds effortlessly, throwing Quinn a wink.

"Are you recording again this week, Rach?" Santana asks quickly, expertly changing the subject to something she knows will pull Rachel's focus; Rachel.

And with that, the diva's demeanor switches dramatically and she begins to babble on about lyrics and acoustics and concerts and schedules. _Nailed it_, Santana thinks to herself, before blocking out Rachel's voice and turning to peer curiously at the blonde sitting beside her.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for how long it's been between updates! Once again, life got a bit busy. Still busy... but, I'm excited about where the story is going so I'm hoping to have another chapter for you _relatively_ soon. Let me know what you thought of this one ;)**

As usual, big thanks to WorldOfTilt (go check her out u/3974893/)


	18. Chapter 18

"So, you're like completely in love with her or something?"

Santana asks the question with her mouth still hanging open, having finally just heard _The Rachel Story_.

"What?" Quinn practically squeals, "No."

"Then I'm going to ask you, again," Santana ventures tentatively, "Why would you not tell her that you're seeing someone?"

Quinn shrugs her shoulders, a half-hearted effort to make it seem like it's not such a big deal.

"I mean, after hearing that story..." Santana continues, trailing off as she tries to put all the pieces together in her head.

"I know," Quinn concedes with a slight eye roll, "but, you have to remember, that was a really long time ago."

Santana narrows her eyes at Quinn, who she finally realizes, underneath all the attempted nonchalance, actually seems just as nonplussed by the whole situation as she is. They had left Rachel's fairly soon after dinner, Brittany acknowledging that Santana was desperate to get to the bottom of what was going on with Quinn without any complaint. _Just call me when you're done_, she had purred into Santana's ear as they hugged goodbye. Now she and Quinn sit at the kitchen bench, talking quietly over more wine.

"Well, time doesn't necessarily matter," the Latina offers, almost as a question, vaguely referencing her own reunion with Brittany.

"This is completely different, S," Quinn laughs, not missing the implication at all, "I haven't been _pining_ over Rachel for all these years. It's just not like that."

She nods to herself, as though the statement was just as much for her as it was for Santana.

Santana asks the question they're both thinking, "Then, what's it like?"

Quinn has no answer. She opens her mouth a couple of times but closes it again when no words come. Santana considers her for a minute.

"Did you tell _him_ about _her_?" she asks, her head cocked slightly to one side.

"Who?"

"The Pope," Santana replies with a roll of her eyes and a generous amount of sarcasm, "_Mitch_, Quinn. Did you tell Mitch about Rachel?"

"Oh. No," Quinn admits quietly, "but that's not so weird."

"It's _Rachel_ _Berry_. Even _I_ tell people about her," Santana declares, "And if you really have been spending all your time with this guy talking about _you_, it does seem a little strange that you wouldn't at least _mention_ your old friend that you've recently reconnected with."

Quinn can only nod as Santana continues.

"Okay, so you've only just met him and maybe you don't want to tell him everything, that's fine," Santana offers a small concession to Quinn, "But, Rachel? I mean, you keep telling me that you two are really good friends, right? So, I guess it's just kind of surprising that the guy you're seeing hasn't come up at all."

Quinn straightens her slumped shoulders a little.

"We don't talk about her boyfriend, either," she justifies with a slightly cocky smirk.

"_Fiancé_," Santana can't help but correct her, "And that's not the same... at least you know he exists."

"Yeah, but I don't know anything about him," Quinn counters quickly.

Santana laughs, slightly misreading Quinn's defensiveness, "Well, just pick up a magazine."

The blonde snaps, "I don't _want_ to know anything about him!"

Santana's eyes fly wide open as she retracts slightly from her best friend with an awkward laugh.

"Woah," she mutters in surprise. And then, after a thought, "Are you... _jealous_?"

Quinn lifts her eyes from the ground, where they had fallen in embarrassment after her unexpected outburst.

"Of him? No."

"Really?" Santana asks, skeptically.

Quinn shakes her head.

"Well, you're jealous of _someone_."

Quinn laughs, mostly to herself, and lets out a long, deep breath.

"I'm jealous of _everyone_."

Santana's brow furrows, "Like, everyone she's ever dated?"

"No," Quinn clarifies, "like, _everyone_. In the world."

"Um..." Santana really isn't following.

"Ok, here's the thing," Quinn starts, figuring it out as she goes, "All I ever wanted for Rachel was for the world to realize how amazing she was. How special. And don't get me wrong, when they did I was really happy for her. Honestly. But, I was also a little..."

"Jealous."

"Yeah."

"Because she was famous?"

"Because I didn't want to share."

Santana nods slowly, allowing herself time to let Quinn's frank admission sink in. She smiles at her friend whose eyes frantically search her own, hoping to see even a hint of understanding. When she doesn't find it, a feeling of overwhelming irrationality washes over her and she loses her grasp on what she's been trying to explain.

"Because she was..." the blonde struggles, "... we were friends and I cared about her and no one... I mean, she was so special but not exactly easy to... _get_... you know? But I... and then..."

Quinn stops with a deep huff before she starts hyperventilating.

Santana picks up the rambling thought for her, giving it some final clarity, "When the rest of the world caught on, it felt like what you had with her all of a sudden wasn't so special."

Quinn meets Santana's gaze, her eyes wide with surprise at her best friend's almost completely accurate observation. She smiles, then shakes her head.

"It's stupid."

"It's not," Santana offers, her tone supportive and genuine, "Not at all. Look, I get it. Yes, she still annoys the crap out of me half the time but you're right; Rachel is pretty amazing. But, not just because of the voice. She's amazing because the whole world knows who she is and she hasn't let it _change_ who she is. Aside from a new wardrobe and, _thankfully_, a new fiancé, she's still pretty much the same girl we knew in Lima. That's impressive. And it's because of that, that I can promise you... nothing will ever take away from what you guys had. What you still have. Which is an obvious connection and a really solid, albeit slightly surprising, friendship..."

Santana pauses for a moment to smile warmly at Quinn, before continuing with a smirk, "... that I'm still not 100% convinced isn't at least partly about you wanting to get into her pants."

Quinn lets herself laugh at the last comment, but her eyes are brimming with tears. She looks at Santana with overflowing gratitude, unable to say how much it means that her best friend is not only able to understand what she's feeling, but to articulate it for her, too.

"I can't control sharing her with the world," Quinn admits quietly, "But, I like being able keep this part of her - the _us_ part of her - to myself."

"I get that," Santana says, "Is that why it took you this long to tell me about what happened that day in the bridal shop?"

"Partly," Quinn answers, "But, mostly because I knew you'd make it about sex."

Santana laughs, heartily, "You kissed her, Q," she teases, "pretty sure _you_ made it about sex."

"It wasn't-"

"I know, I know," Santana cuts Quinn off before she can get too defensive, "I'm just teasing."

She stands up and kisses her on the forehead, "You okay?"

"Yeah," the blonde assures her, "Thank you."

"Of course," Santana smiles, and then, "You should tell Rachel."

Quinn nods, "I know."

Santana rubs Quinn's shoulder a couple of times before taking their glasses to the sink and heading out of the kitchen.

"It was..." she says, reappearing suddenly, her head poking in from the hallway, "... a little bit about sex."

She throws Quinn a wink and disappears, again. Quinn takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

* * *

"Hey you," Brittany answers Santana's call in the middle of the first ring.

"Hi," Santana breathes, her heart instantly speeding up in an increasingly familiar way.

"Everything okay with Quinn?"

"Yeah, thanks," Santana smiles, "What are you up to?"

"Just chilling," Brittany answers, "but I'm totally bored." She waits a few beats before adding, "What are youuuuu up to?"

By the change in her tone, Santana can almost hear the blonde wiggling her eyebrows. She giggles.

"Waiting for you?" Santana ventures, somewhat shyly.

"Yeah, you are," Brittany responds confidently, "I'll be right over."

Brittany hangs up before Santana even has time to reply. She actually didn't think she would see the blonde again tonight and she is suddenly very excited. In more ways than one. Just the thought of Brittany, and her effortless confidence in practically inviting herself over, makes Santana a little weak at the knees. And, she realizes as she feels the warmth gather between her legs, more than a little turned on.

"Jesus," she whispers to herself.

She drops her phone on her bed and crosses the room to her dresser, lifting off her shirt as she goes. She tosses it in her laundry hamper and opens the top drawer. Locating what she's looking for, she hums happily to herself, pulling off her jeans and underwear. She unclasps her bra and wriggles out of it, letting it fall into the open drawer next to the bright red, silk and lace lingerie set she has chosen to change into before Brittany arrives. Thinking about the imminent reunion with Brittany incites an insistent pulse to start beating where her warm desire had flared moments earlier.

Just as she has pulled the lace bottoms on, Santana hears the floor creak behind her and her body stiffens.

"Don't turn around," she hears Brittany whisper.

Her voice is heavy, quiet but commanding.

Santana doesn't move. Her breaths start to come out faster and more shallow as she waits. There is some rustling behind her and then, before she knows it, she feels Brittany press up against her back. Skin on skin.

"I missed you," Brittany purrs directly into Santana's ear, before wrapping her arm around the Latina and pushing her hand straight beneath the thin material of her underwear.

"Oh my god," Santana breathes in surprise as Brittany's fingers disappear inside her.

"Mmm you missed me, too," Brittany says and Santana groans, her hands now clutching desperately to the top of her dresser.

"How did you get here so quickly?" Santana manages to get out between ragged breaths.

"Ssh, no questions," Brittany commands, pushing into Santana forcefully.

She feels Santana clench around her fingers at the assertion, a soft whimper escaping the latina's lips.

"Oh, you like that?" Brittany smirks into Santana's shoulder.

The brunette can only nod.

"Well, then," Brittany continues, bringing her mouth right back up to Santana's ear, "the only two things that I want to hear out of your mouth are my name..." she presses even harder into Santana, "... and you begging for more. Got it?"

Santana nods again.

"Please..." she exhales, releasing the breath that was caught in her throat.

"What do you want?" Brittany teases.

"More..."

"Ask me properly."

"Please, I want more..." Santana whispers desperately, her legs ready to give out beneath her as she waits.

Brittany stops her movements and Santana's breath hitches. She turns her head to the side, her eyes wildly searching for the face of the woman pressed against her. The blonde leans her head forward and ghosts her lips across Santana's, arching an eyebrow as she pulls away. Santana stares incredulously for a moment, finding herself not altogether hating being teased. But, her need becomes overwhelming and she sighs heavily, gratefully, with the realization of what she needs to do.

"Brittany," she whispers, as her body surprisingly relaxes in anticipation, "Please, _Brittany_."

Brittany rewards her girlfriend with a third finger and a firm thrust, causing them both to groan. Santana winces and reaches back, her hand flailing about wildly trying to find some part of Brittany to touch. Brittany catches Santana's wrist and pins her hand back on the top of the dresser.

"Uhuh," Brittany chastises wickedly.

"Please, Britt," Santana whines, "I need to feel you."

"You can't feel this?" Brittany asks, pushing deeper into Santana with the help of her hips.

Santana bucks back into Brittany involuntarily. She can feel everything. She can feel Brittany's hard nipples poking wantonly at her back as their bodies smack together with each insistent thrust. She can feel Brittany's hot breath and wet lips on her skin where the blonde's face is buried in her neck, her teeth occasionally grazing her pulse, threatening to bite down. She can feel the goosebumps that continue to rise and disappear each time Brittany's chest and stomach press against her back. She can feel Brittany's skin, damp with sweat, slipping against her own. She can feel everything, and she wants more.

"I asked you a question," Brittany hisses into Santana's ear.

"Yes," Santana groans.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I can feel it."

"Does it feel good?"

"So... good..."

Santana's wrist flinches beneath Brittany's fingers, causing Brittany to tighten her grip.

"Then let me do the touching," she purrs.

Santana moans her acquiescence as Brittany kicks at her ankles, spreading her legs wider. Brittany improves her own stance, readying herself to take full advantage of having Santana positioned so compliantly like this in front of her. She pauses a moment to appreciate how much her girlfriend turns her on, only to have the girl in question push back into her impatiently.

Brittany smirks to herself, "You poor thing, you were ready before I even got here."

Santana feels the heat rise to her cheeks as she nods her admission.

"Well don't worry, baby," Brittany whispers into Santana's ear, "I'm going to take care of it."

* * *

Santana leans against the kitchen wall, peering wordlessly into the lounge room. She takes a sip of her coffee and feels an indescribable joy wash over her at the sound of laughter coming from the couch. She pays no attention to the cartoon playing on the television, her focus solely on Brittany sitting cross-legged, with Noah in her lap, both of them devouring giant bowls of Cheerios. Brittany wouldn't let Santana make pancakes this morning. _Surely, you're too tired_ the blonde had whispered slyly when she made the suggestion.

"Hey, I was thinking," comes Quinn's voice from the kitchen behind her, "that maybe today is the day."

Santana spins around and scrunches her nose up a little.

"For...?"

"Noah to meet Mitch," Quinn clarifies.

"Oh," Santana says, her brow furrowing a little further.

She walks over and sits down at the bench next to Quinn, pressing her lips together and peering at Quinn through squinted eyes.

Quinn knows this look.

"What?"

"Nothing," Santana shakes her head, "It's just... that's quick? I mean, yesterday you were all like _I can't, it's too much _and now, what? It's suddenly something you have to do right away?"

"Well, I was actually thinking about our conversation last night. About Rachel and everything. I want to tell her about him... but I want to be sure about him first. And I certainly won't know if he's going to be sticking around until he passes the Noah test," she explains, standing to retrieve the coffee pot.

She returns to fill their cups and sits back down with a smirk, "And the Santana test."

Santana nods.

"Well, I hope he's studied," Santana jokes with mock seriousness, "because I ain't makin' this easy for him."

Quinn laughs, but there is a hint of real worry in her eyes. Chances are Santana actually won't make it easy for him at all. Before she can think about it too much, something draws her attention over Santana's shoulder and she looks up, her quizzical expression piquing Santana's curiosity.

Santana turns to find Brittany and Noah standing with slumped shoulders at the kitchen entryway, wearing identical frowns. The sight makes her heart clench and she lets out the tiniest of chuckles.

"Oh, my girls," Santana frowns in matching melodrama, "what's wrong?"

"Brittany has to go," Noah grumbles.

Suddenly, Santana can no longer see the humor in the situation. Her frown becomes real and she looks to her girlfriend with hopeful eyes. But, the blonde just nods in confirmation.

"Sorry," she says, stepping towards Santana, "Rachel's filming some talk show appearance and apparently the dancers are 'incompetent amateurs'... she wants me to go teach them the routine properly."

Brittany puts her arms around Santana's shoulders and the latina melts into her.

"Well, I guess we can't have anyone making Rachel Berry look bad," she concedes, kissing Brittany gently on the nose, "Go do your thing."

"Thanks," Brittany whispers, leaning down to her ear, "probably best to let you have some recovery time today, anyway."

Santana's face is crimson in an instant and Brittany chuckles as she presses her lips to Santana's warm cheek. She goes to pull away but Santana composes herself quickly and holds on to Brittany's waist.

"If I were you, I'd be less concerned about giving me recovery time," she advises seductively, "and more concerned about giving yourself plenty of preparation time."

Brittany realizes she's holding her breath as Santana leans further in and whispers in her ear, "Payback's a bitch."

Brittany groans, already feeling fairly _prepared_.

"Okay!" Quinn interjects with a clearing of her throat, "Brittany, why don't I walk you out?"

Santana and Brittany untangle themselves from each other with sheepish grins.

"I need to grab a few things from Ralph's," Quinn explains, "Will you two be alright?"

"No," Santana whines dramatically, pouting up at Brittany. "I'll miss you," she whispers.

"I meant you and Noah, idiot."

"Oh," Santana laughs, somewhat embarrassed, "We'll be fine."

"I'll look after Tana, Mommy," Noah confirms.

"Good girl," Quinn giggles, leaning down to kiss Noah's forehead, "back soon."

Brittany squeezes Santana's hand, mouthing _I'll miss you, too_ as the two blondes head out.

"You guys are gross," Santana hears Quinn say to Brittany as the door closes behind them, Brittany's laughter carrying into the kitchen and making Santana grin like a goofball.

She feels Noah take hold of her hand and allows herself to be lead to the lounge room. Noah watches cartoons as Santana absentmindedly stares at the wall. She can't help but think about Brittany... and last night. After the initial surprise attack, Brittany had carried her to bed and quite literally fucked her senseless. In the early hours of this morning, Santana had laid numb in the blonde's arms, so spent and completely sated. The dominant side of Brittany was certainly one that she could get used to, but it's the blissful reverie she felt as Brittany ran her gentle fingers through her hair, humming soothingly into her ear, that she is reliving now. She's completely lost in her contentment, so it takes a moment to notice Noah tugging at her arm.

"What is it, banana?"

"Someone was calling out Brittany's name."

"Oh god," Santana blushes furiously, "was it _me_?"

Noah giggles, "No, silly! Downstairs."

On cue, Santana hears a loud banging and the distant but distinct call of a man's voice, "Brittany?"

Santana's brow furrows with deep creases as she pushes herself off the couch.

"Let's go see what's going on then, shall we?"

She takes Noah's hand and they head to Santana's bedroom, stopping at the windows and pulling the blinds open a fraction to peek down to the studio door.

"Ugh," Santana groans.

"Who is that?" Noah asks.

"That," Santana says, "is someone that I really don't care to see."

The man in question bangs on the door again, then presses his hands to the glass, holding his face right up against them to get a better look inside, "Britt?"

He's holding some envelopes in one hand and the look on his face is impatient yet determined.

"I don't think he's going to go away," Noah muses.

"You might be right," Santana sighs.

She is about to open the door and go downstairs when she has an idea. She smiles down at Noah mischievously.

"You want to do Auntie Tana a big favor, monkey?"

* * *

"And who might you be?"

Noah peers up at the man from the doorway, blocking it as best she can with her tiny body.

"I'm Noah," she announces, "And who might _you_ be?"

Her imitation of him is almost perfect; too loud, excessively smarmy and offensively condescending.

"I'm Jason," he replies, his arrogant grin faltering slightly.

He moves towards the door and attempts to step around Noah.

"Excuse me," she says, "but I don't believe I invited you in."

Jason looks down at her incredulously. Santana, who is crouched out of sight behind her bedroom blinds, giggles proudly. Knowing that she'd be able to keep her eyes clearly on Noah from this vantage point, she had sent her down to get rid of Jason. With his smug face and his terribly inaccurate sense of self-awareness, she finds him just as repellent as she did the day she met him, when he so unceremoniously interrupted her and Brittany... dancing. She still can't believe Rachel is marrying someone related to this guy.

"Whatever," Jason laughs humorlessly, attempting once more to pass Noah.

"You can't come in," Noah blurts out, "Auntie Tana told me to tell you that Brittany isn't here and thank you very much for stopping by but you can leave now."

"This is bullshit," he mutters.

It's loud enough for Santana to hear and she stands immediately.

"You shouldn't use that kind of language in front of a kid," Noah tells him.

"Well," Jason leans down close to Noah, snarling harshly, "why don't you stop being such a goddamn brat and go get a _fucking_ grown up."

"Hey!" Santana's voice booms across the studio and she is down the stairs faster than would seem humanly possible.

"Go wait upstairs, Noah," she instructs evenly.

She watches Noah run up the stairs and close the door behind her before spinning around to face Jason.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she spits at him.

"Woah," Jason laughs, holding up his hands in mock defensiveness, "Easy, chica, we were just having a little fun."

Santana's anger flares, "Fun? What the fuck is fun about speaking like that to _a five year old_, you fucking asshole?"

"Oh, calm down," Jason tells her, his tone now impatient, "she's fine."

"That remains to be seen," Santana counters, "You need to leave."

She goes to shut the door but Jason holds it open with his foot, "Where's Brittany?"

"None of your fucking business."

"It is actually," Jason insists, menacingly.

The two of them stare at each other for a few moments, neither one wanting to back down. Santana crosses her arms across her chest and raises a challenging eyebrow, stepping further into the doorway. Jason takes a step back and sighs.

"Look," he says, "I just came by to find Britt, I haven't seen her in a few days and figured she'd probably be here."

He starts to smirk as he leans in closer.

"Or, you know, _up there_," he motions upstairs with a nod of his head, "That's your bedroom, right?"

Santana doesn't like the tone in his voice. And she hates that his words make her blush. For the first time since she came downstairs she breaks their eye contact and lowers her head.

"Oh, don't be shy," Jason grins, "I get it. _Trust me_."

Santana is feeling increasingly uneasy with every word that comes out of Jason's mouth. His familiar tone when he speaks about Brittany is unsettling.

"If you need some help handling her in there," he continues, "all you need to do is ask."

"Fuck you," Santana's head shoots back up, her eyes raging with defiance.

"Chill out," Jason laughs, "I'm just having some fun."

"You know, you really need to look up the definition of _fun_, you creep. Get the hell off my property."

"Ain't your property, sweetheart," he retorts, handing Santana the mail, "Give these to Brittany, would you."

She looks down to see the letter on top was sent to Brittany at her home address. She flips through the others envelopes, finding them all addressed the same way.

"And a little something for yourself," Jason adds.

As Santana looks up at him, he passes her a business card. _His_ business card.

"In case you change your mind."

"In your dreams," Santana hisses.

"You can count on that," he winks as he walks away.

Santana almost gags as an uncomfortable shiver runs down her spine. She shakes it off and slams the door, making sure it's locked before heading swiftly upstairs.

"Noah?" she calls gently, as she steps into her room.

The girl looks up from her cross-legged position on the ground. Her scowling face softens when she sees Santana.

"You okay?" Santana asks her, bending down to run a hand over her hair.

"Yeah," Noah sighs, dramatically, "but, that guy was a bit of a douche."

Santana can't help but laugh, nodding in complete agreement.

"Where did you learn that word?" she says, scooping Noah off the ground and carrying her out of the room.

"That's what you always call the pizza delivery guy," Noah explains.

Santana laughs, again. The pizza delivery guy _is_ a douche.

"Well, I was actually going to get us pizza for lunch... but, I think we've had enough _douche_ for one day. How about ice cream?" she suggests, to a very enthusiastic Noah.

* * *

"Blanket?"

"Check."

"Plates?"

"Check."

"Cups and cutlery?"

"Check and check."

"I don't know why you're doing that now," Santana comments from the driver's seat, keeping her eyes on the road, "I ain't turning around if you forgot anything."

"That's too bad," Quinn counters from the back seat, "Because I don't think we packed any breadsticks."

"Don't mess with me, Fabray," Santana snaps, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder.

"Relax," Quinn laughs, flinging one of the sticks into Santana's lap, "You're too easy."

Quinn still finds it adorable and hilarious how much Santana loves these things. She would have anyone believe it's because they're delicious, but Quinn knows deep down it's partly because they remind her of home. It's been five years since they left Ohio and they are both completely happy where they are. But, sometimes, you just need to hang onto something that reminds you of where you came from. Quinn smiles at her daughter.

"What, Mommy?"

"I love you, baby."

"I love you, too," Noah beams.

"And I love you both," Santana mumbles, munching on her breadstick, "But, it's time to play it cool... we're here."

Santana parks the car and the three girls pile out. She checks her phone but there are no messages. Santana had called Brittany a couple of times after Jason's visit but she hadn't picked up. The brunette pouts at the fact her _call me when you get a chance_ text message has also gone unanswered. She was hoping Brittany would join them for this picnic, not feeling particularly in the mood to meet Quinn's new guy on her own after what happened with Jason.

"S, why don't you take the basket and go find us a spot?" Quinn suggests, pointing to the busy park, "Noah and I will put some money in the meter."

"Okay," Santana agrees, secretly happy to have some alone time with the breadsticks, "I'll head towards the fountain."

She trundles across the grass and finds a nice free patch under a big shady tree. Setting the basket down she pulls out the blanket and spreads it out on the ground, flopping down onto it clumsily. She reaches into the basket and digs around for the breadsticks. Triumphantly, she pulls out a handful and shoves them into her mouth.

"My, my," comes a voice from behind her that she instantly, and loathsomely, recognizes, "you can take four at a time?"

Santana almost chokes as she turns to see Jason hovering above her. She swallows her mouthful and stands unceremoniously.

"What are you, like, stalking me now?"

"Actually, believe it or not, this is just a happy coincidence. I'm meeting someone here. You're not the only one who knows how to snag a hot, blonde piece of ass."

"You're a pig."

"Well, thankfully she hasn't figured that out yet."

"Seriously, there's actually a woman out there dumb enough to go on a date with you?"

"A date? Please, that's easy. I've got this one so wrapped around my little finger she's introducing me to her kid."

Santana's heart sinks.

"And here she is now," Jason smirks, motioning for Santana to turn around.

But, she can't. She already knows what she'll see and she desperately wants to be wrong.


	19. Chapter 19

"You're meeting Quinn," Santana says, so quietly it may as well be to herself.

When she looks up at Jason, he's wearing a smirk that she can't quite read. And she can't stand looking at it so she wills herself to turn around. Quinn is about 10 yards away. She waves happily and Santana forces herself to smile in return.

"Small world, isn't it?"

There is a hint of surprise and an excessive amount of menace in Jason's voice, and Santana shivers at the sound of it, right by her ear. He is standing uncomfortably close and his tone makes her feel like she has a hundred dirty secrets and he knows them all.

"Mitch!" Quinn beams as she and Noah finally sidle up next to them, "You found Santana."

"I did," Jason confirms, brightly.

Quinn smiles at both of them and Santana keeps her back to Jason, ready to drop a massive truth bomb on her best friend. But, before she can unleash, Quinn's expression tranforms into a grimace of confusion and she peers past Santana to the man standing behind her.

"Wait," she frowns, "how did you know _this _was Santana?"

As Quinn points to her, Santana spins back around to face Jason, her smug smile challenging him to explain.

"Well, I saw a woman shovelling breadsticks into her mouth and took an educated guess."

He throws a knowing wink at Quinn who, still wrapping her head around the situation, lets out a slightly awkward, but still rather hearty laugh. Santana is so shocked by Jason's audacity that she misses the opportunity to call him on it before he continues to speak.

"No, no, I'm kidding, of course. Even though I almost feel as though I_ could _recognize her from all the great things you've told me about her, it just so happens we've actually met before."

Quinn remains slightly puzzled, glancing curiously between Jason and Santana.

"Very briefly," Jason continues, "So briefly, in fact, that I never even put two and two together."

He laughs as though he finds his own stupidity completely delightful and Santana narrows her eyes, glaring at him like he's crazy.

"This was a total coincidence," he adds, "It wasn't until I came over to say hello that I realized Santana was _Santana_. I'm not very good with names, I'm afraid, and I don't think we were ever really _properly_ introduced."

He smiles a contrived apology at Santana, before turning to Quinn, wearing a small pout of shame. Santana rolls her eyes. Jason is laying the charm on thick and she's horrified to see that Quinn is completely falling for it.

"Well, allow me to fix that," Quinn offers, the bewilderment having completely vanished from her broad smile, "Santana Lopez, Jason Mitchell."

Jason extends his hand to Santana, "_Mitch_, to my friends."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Santana turns away without shaking Jason's hand.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" she urges Quinn, pushing her back a few steps.

"Right now?" Quinn whispers, slightly annoyed, "S, I'm kind of about to do something huge here."

She motions to Noah, who is sitting on the blanket with her arms crossed over her chest, a defiant scowl on her face. She is staring directly at Jason. And, in this moment, she looks uncannily like Santana.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Q," she says bitterly, "They've already met. It didn't go so well."

Santana's tone is dramatic and tinged with anger. Quinn's eyes soften on her.

"Noah's nervous," she laughs, "She's just being overly defensive. Perhaps, like someone else I know?"

"What?" Santana's eyebrows pinch together and then she realizes Quinn's meaning, "Um, no. I already know this guy and I'm sorry Q, but your new friend is a complete jackass."

Santana is in no way being discrete.

"Okay," Quinn shoots, grabbing Santana by the arm and pulling her further aside. She keeps one eye on Noah while she quietly chastises Santana, "You need to lower your voice and chill out. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What the hell is wrong with _you_?" Santana counters aggressively, "Can't you see what a poser he is?"

"That's enough," Quinn whispers, her voice an odd combination of brewing anger and genuine hurt, "I really like this guy, Santana."

"Since when?" Santana scoffs, "Yesterday when I asked you if you liked him, he barely managed to get an _I guess so_ from you and now you _really_ like him?"

"That bothers you, doesn't it?"

"You're damn right it does," she turns in his direction, reinforcing her dislike for him with a groan, "I mean look at him."

Jason is now crouched a few feet away from Noah, who is still refusing to show him any clemency. He looks up and waves at Quinn with a dopey grin. Santana rolls her eyes again and turns back to Quinn. The blonde's expression is cold.

"I mean it bothers you that I have someone," she clarifies.

Santana pales slightly.

"That's a joke, right?"

"You tell me, Santana. It would certainly explain why you suddenly seem so hell bent on sabotaging my relationship," Quinn glowers, "You're jealous."

"Oh, honey," Santana laughs derisively, "He's all yours."

Quinn shakes her head at Santana as though she's missed the point completely.

"Or, wait?" Santana catches it, "Am I... am I supposed to be jealous of _him_?"

"_Are_ you?"

Santana almost laughs. Almost. This conversation is suddenly really pissing her off.

"Don't flatter yourself."

She shakes her head in frustration and turns around, taking a step back towards the blanket, where Noah is making a very long daisy chain and Jason is languishing a few feet away, trying his best not to look completely bored.

"You're jealous because you're not the only one getting some attention now," Quinn says to her back.

Santana turns around slowly, one eyebrow arched in disbelief.

"You've always had to one up me," Quinn continues, "ever since high school. You did it with Cheerios. And with... boys."

She means Puck. Santana's jaw clenches. Quinn knows she's going too far but she's gained too much momentum to stop.

"And now that _you're_ in a relationship you can't let me have that, too. It's like you just don't want me to be happy."

It comes out before she can help it. Santana's heart literally stops, as though Quinn has just punched her directly in the chest. It feels like minutes that they stare at each other in heavy silence. Maybe it is minutes.

"You know what?" Santana throws her hands up finally, "I'm out. Fuck this."

She brushes past Quinn, spinning the blonde around with the force of her shoulder. She's heading for the car but something stops her and she turns on her heels, recovering the few yards she'd put between her and Quinn in two long strides.

"And fuck _you_," she spits, pointing a finger in the blonde's face, "I don't even know why I'm still trying to help you, because clearly I'm a horrible friend. I mean, it's not like I've been busting my ass for the last five years just to keep a roof over your head, right? No, the girl you just described obviously doesn't give a shit about you. But, just do me a favor for one second and pretend that I'm someone who actually cares. Because that someone would tell you that even if you don't trust _me,_ you should at least ask your daughter what she thinks."

She storms off, again. But this time, she doesn't turn back.

The moment Santana climbs into her car and slams the door shut behind her she bursts into tears.

"Fuck!" she shouts, pounding her fists into the steering wheel.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Tears stream down her face as she tries to make sense of what the hell just happened. She and Quinn haven't fought like that since high school. And really, they haven't actually fought like that _ever_. Certainly, not as adults. Somehow it seems so much more real. And maybe because of that, she feels completely overwhelmed. She's angry and hurt and frustrated. She's pissed off enough at Quinn right now ignore the niggling worry of what's going to happen from here, but she hates that she left Noah there with _him_. She debates whether or not to go back into the park for a good ten minutes before deciding that she doesn't need to. Jason won't win Noah over. Not in a million years. She sees right through bullshit, just like her Auntie Tana.

Wiping her eyes with the back of one hand, she digs her phone out of her pocket with the other. She presses her thumb against the home button and feels more tears prickling the back of her eyes when the blank screen flashes up. She doesn't want to be that girl who gets upset every time her girlfriend doesn't reply to a call or a text straight away, but it's been hours and she's feeling particularly sensitive.

Taking in a deep breath she decides to try Brittany, again. In other circumstances she might get shitty at being ignored and stubbornly wait it out, but right now she just needs her girlfriend.

"Hey, I was just about to ca-"

"Where are you?" Santana cuts her off abruptly, her voice full of too many different emotions.

"Santana, are you okay?"

She ignores the question, "Are you at home?"

"Um, yeah..."

"I'm coming over."

Santana turns her key in the ignition and props the phone between her head and her shoulder, slightly muffling her voice. Her hand is on the gear stick, ready to get the hell out of here.

"Where are you?" Brittany presses.

"The park."

Brittany is finding Santana's short responses upsetting.

"Honey, what's going on?" she asks gently, "You sound... strange."

"I just need to see you, okay."

"Okay," Brittany soothes, "why don't I meet you back at your place?"

"Because _your_ place is closer."

And because she doesn't want to be there when Quinn gets home.

"Yeah, but... "

"Britt!" Santana cuts in again, impatient and lacking the energy to explain herself, "I just want to come see you at your apartment, okay?"

A pause.

"You can't."

For the second time in the last half hour, Santana feels like she's been punched in the chest. When she asks Brittany why, her voice is inaudible.

"I mean," Brittany quickly continues, obviously flustered, "it's just... I'm not there."

Santana turns the car back off and takes the phone in her hand. Her brow furrows.

"You just said you were home."

"I know," Brittany mumbles.

"So, you lied to me?"

"Not exactly..."

Santana presses her fingers to her temples.

"Either you're home or you're not, Brittany."

It comes out curt and loud and Brittany's voice is weak in response.

"It's not that simple," she stammers.

Santana shakes her head, once again turning the car on and shifting into gear.

"Fine, you know what?" she says brusquely, done with any more bullshit for the day, "Don't bother explaining it to me. If you don't want to tell me where you are, that's fine. Clearly, you don't want me to know. I won't bother you any more."

She hangs up.

Dropping the phone into her lap she releases the hand brake and slams her foot on the accelerator, speeding out of the car park and onto the road that will take her home.

Within 10 minutes she is in her room, rummaging around in the closet for her overnight bag. When she finds it she starts throwing in random items of clothing. A couple of sweaters, a pair of shorts and a ski jacket. A _ski jacket_? She looks down at the ridiculous collection and starts laughing at herself.

"What the hell are you going to need a ski jacket for?" she says aloud.

Her laughter isn't happy laughter. It's the kind of laughter that is trying to disguise the real questions she should be asking herself. Like, _What the hell are you doing? _and _Where would you even go?_ Realizing she can't answer either of them, she drops onto her bed, defeated. She's not laughing anymore. But, she's not crying either. She doesn't get a chance to.

The tap at the glass door startles her into a sitting position. She turns sharply, already glaring, knowing full well who it's going to be.

"Go away, Brittany."

Brittany slides the door open a few inches.

"Can I come in?"

"No," Santana states plainly, "And just because you own the building, doesn't give you the right to just come up here uninvited whenever you feel like it."

She has no idea if that's true or not but she had at least mustered up enough conviction to make Brittany step back.

"You're right, I'm sorry," she mumbles, "It's just I've called you like 20 times in the last ten minutes and I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. You were kind of worked up before and I didn't like the idea of you driving..."

"Well, I'm so sorry I made you come all this way," Santana says, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Santana, that's not-"

"Look," she shoots, making quite the habit of cutting Brittany off, "here I am. Home. Alive. May your conscience be at peace."

She looks away from Brittany, but not fast enough. She sees it when Brittany's face falls, tears clearly welling in her eyes as she slides the door closed and walks away. It breaks her heart.

"Fuck."

She should go after her. But, she doesn't. Instead, she paces her bedroom floor for what seems like hours. In reality it's only a few minutes but it's long enough for her to start feeling sick with remorse over the way she's acting towards Brittany.

She shakes her head, and some sense into herself, and finds her phone. Pulling up the last dialled number she takes in a deep breath and calls. She holds the phone to her ear anxiously, trying to form some semblance of a decent apology in her head. Eventually she realizes it's been ringing for a while and moves the phone from her ear to right in front of her face, as though looking at the screen may give her an explanation for why Brittany hasn't answered, yet.

Nothing on the screen helps, but the unimpeded ear means she can now make out the faint but familiar sound of Brittany's ringtone. Downstairs.

Santana hesitates for only the briefest of moments before flinging her phone onto the bed and heading out her door. She practices a few earnest _I'm sorry_s to herself as she takes the stairs two at a time, landing at the bottom with a less than graceful thud. She smooths her hands over her shirt and walks quietly towards the office. Knocking twice, she decides against just opening the door and letting herself in. When it doesn't open from the inside after a few moments she knocks, again.

"Britt?" she calls out hopefully, "I'm here to apologize."

Nothing.

"Can we talk?" she almost begs, "Please?"

Again, there is no response. She raps her knuckles against the door gently. It's an empty gesture at this point; she knows that if simply knocking was going to work, Brittany would have opened the door by now. Defeated, her shoulders slump with a heavy sigh and she turns to walk away. But there is something niggling at her that won't let her move._ Brittany would have opened the door by now, period. _She knows she doesn't deserve it, but she also knows beyond a doubt that it's true. Brittany would have let her in. _She's not in there_.

Santana swings back around and slowly turns the handle, opening the door a fraction and peeking inside. And sure enough, there is no one in the room. But, the state it's in takes Santana a little by surprise. She pushes the door completely open and takes in the scene in front of her. The sofa that she and Brittany had fallen asleep on the other night is now fully expanded out, it's unmade bed reaching into the center of the room. The desk is pushed up against the wall to accommodate and a mountain of clothes covers most of it's surface. Numerous pairs of shoes are strewn about the floor and some food containers sit conspicuously at the bottom of the bin.

Santana takes a few steps inside as her brain slowly catches up. Suddenly, the room seems quieter. Turning her head towards the wall, she realizes that water had been running in the locker room next door the entire time but she only noticed the sound when it had shut off. She sits down on the bed and waits.

After a few minutes, Brittany appears at the doorway in a bathrobe. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees Santana, clinging awkwardly to the towel she was using to dry off her damp hair. Overcompensating, she throws it dramatically aside and clears her throat.

"Santana..."

Brittany doesn't quite know where to start. She looks around the room and then back at Santana, the look in the brunette's eyes telling her that Santana has figured out her secret before she even opens her mouth.

"Are you_ living _here, Britt?"

She can only nod in confirmation, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"Why?"

Santana's tone isn't accusatory or harsh, it's warm and genuinely concerned. Suddenly, Brittany feels stupid for not just telling Santana what was happening from the get go.

"My living situation became... unpleasant," she reveals, relaxing as the weight lifts from her shoulders.

"What do you mean?" Santana's brow furrows deeply.

"Please don't worry," Brittany walks towards her with a smile, not wanting Santana to get upset because of her, "It's fine. My roommate and I just turned out to not be very compatible."

"I didn't even realise you had a roommate," Santana says, a little taken aback.

"Yeah, well I don't like to talk about him," Brittany says, stopping beside the bed and kicking awkwardly at the metal frame, "He's actually quite repulsive."

She laughs a little and Santana's mouth twitches with the hint of a smile. Just as she's beginning to relax, Brittany's words trigger something in the back of her mind and she realizes that she'd become so concerned for her girlfriend that she'd completely forgotten about her own mess of a day. Then, with gut wrenching clarity, the penny drops and she suddenly realizes why Jason had Brittany's mail this morning.

Her face pales.

Brittany frowns and sits down next to her on the bed, putting her hand gently on Santana's knee. It's the smallest of gestures but it's completely overwhelming for Santana. Without warning, she bursts into tears.

* * *

Brittany remains quiet for a good minute, absentmindedly stroking Santana's hair as they lie together on the bed. Santana takes in a deep breath, her head resting gently on Brittany's chest. She feels decidedly more relaxed having recounted the events of the day for Brittany. And thoroughly exhausted.

Santana has never considered herself one of those people who doesn't like confrontation. When she was younger, she even sought it out. If anyone rubs her the wrong way, she doesn't hesitate to make it clear exactly how she feels about it. She realizes now that perhaps she just never cared enough to care. Because fighting with Quinn, and Brittany, has left her feeling empty and hurt.

"I'm sorry," Brittany whispers into her ear, pressing her lips gently against her hair.

Santana frowns, tilting her head up in an attempt to see Brittany's face.

"That you went through all that today," the blonde adds, answering Santana's unasked question.

"I'm sorry that I took it out on you," Santana offers in return.

"It's okay," Brittany tells her, "You were already upset and I didn't help. I should have been honest with you from the start."

"Why weren't you?"

Santana isn't asking because she's angry at Brittany. On the contrary, she is finding herself becoming more and more fond of Brittany with every passing second. She's asking because her feelings are overwhelming in a way that means she's becoming increasingly anxious Brittany doesn't feel the same.

It's irrational really, considering their last couple of days together, but Brittany's hesitancy to tell her she was living here makes her feel like maybe she's not completely comfortable in the relationship. Which she guesses isn't that strange; it's all happened so quickly.

"I didn't want you to feel bad," Brittany answers, "And I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed that you were living with that creep? Totally understandable," Santana smiles, nudging Brittany teasingly in the ribs, "But, why did you think I would feel bad?"

"I was only crashing with Jason out of convenience because, well, I was a little stuck for somewhere to live when I got back from New York. I mean, I kind of thought I had it sorted, you know?" she nods her head towards the ceiling, towards Quinn and Santana's apartment, "But, I didn't want you to feel bad about living up there. So, after like, a week, I couldn't take it with Jason anymore and I bought this sofa and started sleeping here, without telling you."

"You should have, Britt," Santana says sadly, "It's your place. We could have-"

"No," Brittany cuts her off, "It's yours. Please, this is why I didn't want to tell you. I'm fine here until I find something else."

Santana doesn't know what to say. Despite Brittany's insistence, she does feel bad. But, she also feels relieved. And completely overwhelmed by the unfathomable kindness of the heart that she can feel beating against her cheek. She presses into Brittany a little harder, tightening the arm that's curled around her waist, hoping Brittany can _feel_ the thank you.

They lie together in silence for a few more minutes, Brittany allowing Santana as much time as she needs in the cathartic embrace.

"She'll realize soon, right?" Santana asks eventually, "Quinn, I mean. She'll realize what he's really like?"

"Of course she will," Brittany reassures her, "She's a smart girl."

"Exactly! So, how has she not realized it already? He's so..."

"I know," Brittany says, "But, Quinn can't see that right now."

Santana frowns, her bottom lip jutting out in disgust.

"She's lonely, Santana," Brittany continues, "Sometimes a girl just needs some attention, you know? I mean, has she even dated anyone since Noah was born?"

Santana shakes her head.

"Put yourself in her shoes," Brittany runs her fingers through Santana's hair, "Jason's a good looking guy. He's successful, charming and he knows how to make a girl feel special... even if it's all an act. Quinn is seeing what she wants to see. She obviously needs to feel whatever it is he's making her feel right now."

"Gross."

Brittany giggles, "That's not what I meant."

"I know," Santana laughs with her, "And I get what you're saying. It's just hard to watch."

"Yeah," Brittany sighs, "Just try not to hold it against her. I know what happened today really upset you. She said some awful things and it's probably stuff you two need to talk about properly. But she's probably also just being overly defensive because somewhere deep down she knows the whole thing with Jason isn't right, even if she really wants it to be. It's just going to take some time. It doesn't mean you have to lie about what you think of Jason, but you're going to need to let her work it all out for herself. Because when it ends, which it inevitably will, if she can blame you it'll make it easier for her. Easier than thinking there's something wrong with _her_... or feeling stupid for falling for him. And then she's going to end up resenting you for reasons that don't even exist."

Santana lifts herself up onto her elbows and stares at Brittany in wonderment.

"You're really smart, you know that?"

"So I've been told," Brittany winks.

Something tells Santana that Brittany is very rarely told she's smart. Which would make her terribly sad if Brittany wasn't looking at her like Santana's is absolutely the only opinion that will ever matter to her anymore.

"And you're hot, too," Santana adds with a smirk, "I've done pretty well for myself."

She leans over, kissing Brittany with a big smile on her face. Brittany smiles back when Santana pulls away. Something flashes in her eyes and she quickly kisses her girlfriend again.

"It's a pity I'm so bad in bed," the blonde deadpans.

Santana's eyes narrow for only a split second before her lips start to curl into a knowing smile.

"You _are_?"

"Oh yeah, terrible," Brittany grins, nudging Santana to roll onto her back, "You didn't notice?"

Santana shakes her head, untying the sash on Brittany's robe, "I'm having trouble recalling... perhaps you should show me some of your moves, again?"

Brittany rolls her eyes, and onto Santana.

"If I must..."


	20. Chapter 20

"You're being a total creep right now," Brittany whispers playfully into Santana's ear as she comes up to stand behind the brunette.

Santana grumbles something that sounds like _shut up_ but allows Brittany to wrap her strong arms around her waist. She leans her head back so it rests gently against Brittany's cheek, but keeps her eyes forward, straining to see properly in the dark. Brittany turns her head slightly to place a kiss against Santana's hair.

"I'm sure she misses you, too," the blonde whispers.

Santana swallows hard against the lump in her throat. She tightens her grip on the door handle and wills herself to remain outside the room, trying her best to be content with just a few minutes of watching through the slightly open door. Something stirs in the air and Brittany feels Santana tense.

"Why don't you just go in there?"

"I don't want to wake her up."

"But, you're just torturing yourself this way."

"It's better than not seeing her at all."

"Is it?" Brittany nudges Santana gently and the brunette turns to face her, "And I still don't understand why you _can't_ see her, just because you and Quinn aren't talking. It's not fair on anyone."

"It's not fair to put her in the middle, either," Santana explains quietly, "And she'd be upset if she knew we were fighting."

"How can she _not_ know? You haven't been home for a week and a half."

"I'm sure Quinn came up with something to cover that up," Santana says sadly.

The last ten days have been bittersweet for Santana. While she hates the unresolved conflict between her and Quinn, she hasn't particularly minded having an excuse to spend every night in Brittany's bed. After clearing the air the night of the picnic, in the wake of their unnecessary fight and their very thorough _make up_, Brittany and Santana had talked for hours, finally starting the process of catching up on the last six years. Every night since has been much of the same. Santana would pick up some take out on her way home from work and usually arrive at the studio just in time to catch Brittany in the final throws of a new routine. It took a few days before she recognized that the smirk on Brittany's face every time she finished may have been an indication that the blonde was _deliberately_ still dancing whenever Santana got home. She realized quickly that she didn't mind at all that Brittany had discovered her weakness.

After a quick shower for Brittany, or a long one for both of them, the two girls would settle in for a night of stories, sharing, laughter and love-making. They had built their own little world in Brittany's makeshift bedroom and, for the most part, Santana was able to ignore what was happening outside of it. But, in the middle of the night she would lie awake in Brittany's arms, thinking about her life upstairs. She was still angry with Quinn, but she also missed her. And not seeing Noah every day was slowly chipping away at her sanity. She lost a lot of sleep wondering if Noah was okay and what Quinn might have said to explain Santana's absence. Brittany hadn't missed any of it, more often than not lying awake with Santana in sympathy. It had gotten unbearable tonight.

_Brittany could feel Santana's body trembling against her as she cried silently, trying to hide her tears by burying her face into Brittany's pillow. Brittany tightened her arm around the brunette, her heart breaking for her girlfriend._

"_Hey," she whispered into the darkness, "Did you buy milk today?"_

_Santana's tears stopped as she sniffled and lifted her head off the pillow to peer curiously at Brittany. Brittany being random was one of the very first things that Santana had become accustomed to about her girlfriend, to the point where she now only occasionally required an explanation when her curiosity got the better of her. This was one of those times. It was, after all, the middle of the night and neither of them were supposed to be awake._

"_Um, no," Santana answered, 'Why, was I supposed to?"_

"_No," Brittany responded, "But, we ran out."_

"_I'll get some on my way home tomorrow," Santana smiled, leaning up to kiss Brittany's cheek before dropping her head back onto the pillow and nuzzling in closer to Brittany's side._

"_But," Brittany continued, "What if I need some for breakfast? I think I will feel like eating Cheerios in the morning."_

"_Wanky," Santana smirked, her mind throwing her a glimpse of her old cheerleading uniform._

"_The cereal," Brittany giggled, tickling at her girlfriend's side. "But, for real. We should go and get some milk."_

_Brittany wriggled against Santana, clearly preparing to get out of the bed._

"_Now?" Santana asked, sitting up with an incredulous frown on her face, "Britt, it's the middle of the night. You really want to go to the store right now?"_

"_Who said anything about the store?" Brittany smiled, "There's a well stocked refrigerator right upstairs."_

_Santana continued to stare at Brittany in slight bewilderment as the blonde crawled out of bed and pulled on a pair of track pants. She fumbled around in the dark for a few moments before turning back to Santana and throwing her a shirt. _

"_I'm not stealing milk from your fridge, Santana," Brittany giggled, "You're going to have to come with me."_

They had crept up the stairs and in through Santana's room like a couple of sneaky ninjas. After poking their heads out her door to check that the coast was clear, Brittany headed towards the kitchen, never expecting Santana to follow. With a whispered _I'll be right back_, Santana had promptly disappeared down the hall in the opposite direction.

"She told me you went on a holiday."

Brittany and Santana both turn towards Noah at the unexpected sound of her sleepy voice. She is sitting up slightly, rubbing her eyes and smiling half-heartedly.

"But, I can hear you talking and walking around downstairs sometimes."

Santana frees herself from Brittany's arms and walks over to sit on the edge of Noah's bed.

"I'm sorry, banana," she says, smoothing down Noah's messy curls, "Your mom didn't mean to lie to you, she just didn't want you to worry."

"Is she mad at you?" Noah's voice wavers, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

"No, sweetheart," Santana explains softly, "And I'm not mad at her, either."

"Then why aren't you talking to each other?"

"Because we're silly," Santana tells her with a small smile, "We will start talking again soon, I promise, but neither of us wants to be the one to go first." She doesn't quite know how to explain stubbornness to a five year old. "It's sort of like a competition."

Noah stares at Santana thoughtfully for a moment before rolling her eyes, making her look more like her mom than ever.

"That's stupid."

Santana chuckles softly.

"I know."

Noah yawns and Santana's heart clenches.

"Go back to sleep, baby girl," she says, kissing her forehead before starting to move away.

Noah's arms wrap instantly around Santana's neck and she clings to her with surprising strength, "Noooo."

Noah's eyes fill with tears and Santana can't help but feel like hers aren't far behind. She shakes it off, knowing it won't help Noah at all if she turns into a blubbering mess, "Hey hey... I'll come see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Promise?" the girl sniffles.

"Now that I know that you know that I'm not on holiday?" Santana scoffs with a laugh, "Just you try and stop me!"

Noah giggles and loosens her grip on Santana with another yawn. Santana smiles and adjusts the comforter as Noah settles back down on her bed.

"Sweet dreams, monkey," she whispers, placing another gentle kiss on her forehead.

Noah mumbles out a response as sleep overtakes her quickly. Santana stands slowly and turns back towards the door where Brittany is waiting for her with an outstretched arm. Santana takes her hand.

"Feel better?" the blonde asks, as they slip out the door and close it quietly behind them.

Santana smiles at her girlfriend as she feels a big chunk of the tension in her body fall away. She shoots a quick glance at the third bedroom and then back up to meet Brittany's patient blue eyes.

"Getting there," she nods, lifting slightly onto her toes so she can press her lips to Brittany's.

The kiss is gentle and warm and full of a thousand thank yous that Santana can't articulate. Brittany feels them all.

* * *

There is an extra spring in Santana's step as she walks to work this morning, having managed to get a decent amount of sleep last night after seeing Noah. There's nothing particularly special about a sunny day in Los Angeles, but she somehow feels like the sky is a little bluer than usual. Gazing up at it absentmindedly, as she approaches the studio building, she thinks that there's only one shade of blue that makes her happier. The goofy grin is wiped from her face instantly as she finally looks down and notices the woman sitting on the curb in front of the double glass doors. Her brow furrows.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too, Santana."

Santana rolls her eyes and walks past the woman, unlocking the door and letting it swing closed behind her. She punches in the alarm code and turns on some lights, heading over to her desk to boot her computer and then into the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine and a few more lights. Eventually returning to her desk, she finds a rather disgruntled Rachel Berry glaring at her.

"Why are you being so rude to me?"

Santana shakes her head at Rachel's dramatic air.

"I know you're not here to work because you're not booked in," Santana says, tapping her pen against the big appointment diary open on her desk, "Plus, Brittany told me you're all taking a few weeks off before you have to start prepping for the wedding."

"You're right, I'm not recording today. I came to talk to you."

"Yes, I gathered," Santana nods, "And you can tell Quinn that if she wants to talk to me she should do it herself and not send her little girlfriend to do it for her."

"I'm sorry?" Rachel's expression is genuinely confused and a little mortified.

Santana can't help but laugh at the blush on Rachel's cheeks, but her scowl quickly returns, "Quinn didn't ask you to come here?"

"No!" Rachel shoots defensively, although she's not sure why, "Well, not exactly."

"So, you _are_ here to 'talk some sense into me' or whatever?" Santana scoffs, "Well, you can save it, Berry. This is none of your business. Quinn and I are grown ups and whatever she's told you about all this, thank you for your concern but we can work it out ourselves. I'm sure we'll be talking again in no time."

Santana's tone is now less annoyed and more dismissive. She starts rummaging through a stack of papers on her desk and looks up a minute later to find Rachel still standing a few feet away.

"You're still here?" she asks, looking at Rachel like she's gone a little crazy.

"She's not talking to you either?"

Rachel's voice is small and distant and it takes a moment for Santana to register what she has just asked.

"You didn't _know_ we were fighting?"

She finds it hard to believe. But then, she has another moment of realization, "Wait... Quinn's not talking to you?"

"Well, I don't know!" Rachel blurts out, "I mean, at the very least she's not returning my phone calls. We were supposed to come here together to talk to you. It was all part of The Santana Plan, but I haven't spoken to her since I had you all over for dinner. I've called and texted and I wrote her a song..."

Santana's jaw drops open even further, "What?"

"Well, no I didn't actually _write_ her a song but I found this song that reminded me of her and it was stuck in my head as I was leaving her a voicemail so I may have just, like, kind of hummed a few bars or something and-"

"No, Rachel, stop," Santana waves her hands in Rachel's face, "I don't want to know about your creepy serenade..."

Rachel stares at her expectantly.

The latina continues, "What the hell is _The Santana Plan_?"

* * *

Santana stares wordlessly at Rachel. If not the for the slight pinch of her brow, the barely perceptible squint of her eyes, she might actually look calm. But there's an intensity lingering in her gaze that Rachel identifies as a glare. The shorter girl stands completely still, her hand outstretched tensely in front of Santana. The only sign that she's shaking is the slight waver of the white cords that run from the phone in her hand up to Santana's ears. Surely, the sound streaming through them has faded by now, Rachel having popped the headphones into Santana's ears almost 5 minutes ago, yet Santana remains motionless. It's another minute before Rachel dares speak.

"Santana?"

The latina doesn't respond. She doesn't blink or move or breathe. Rachel chances a glimpse at her phone and shakes it gently, the screen having dimmed from lack of interaction. When it illuminates again Rachel can see that the track is definitely no longer playing.

"Do you, um..." Rachel ventures tentatively, "Did you want to hear it again, or...?"

Santana moves for the first time since Rachel pressed play. It's a clench of her jaw. Slowly her lips part and Rachel braces herself for the oncoming tirade. But, it doesn't come. When Santana finally speaks, her voice is quiet and measured.

"I don't understand why I'm hearing it at all."

Rachel, stunned she is not on the receiving end of some kind of abuse about boundaries and privacy and general infuriation, responds just as quietly, "I forgot my keys."

Santana shakes her head as though finally snapping out of a trance and her faces scrunches, suddenly rather puzzled by Rachel's apparent non sequitur.

"One night after I'd been recording," Rachel continues in explanation, "I came back in to get them and you were in the studio packing up and..."

"Singing."

"Yes."

"And you... _recorded me_?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

It's Rachel's turn to look puzzled. Santana's voice seems weak and has no trace of the anger that Quinn had warned she would receive when Santana found out she had been recorded without her knowledge. The intensity in her stare reveals itself to be something else entirely.

"_Why_?" Rachel echoes the question, realizing that Santana is genuinely asking why anyone would bother, "Maybe you _do_ need to listen to it again. Santana, you're really talented."

"Yeah, whatever."

Santana stands suddenly, her whole countenance shifting abruptly. The headphones fall from her ears as she steps away from Rachel, mumbling something about having a day full of recordings and that Rachel should probably leave.

Rachel stands frozen in a kind of stupor, her mouth hanging slightly agape, as Santana brushes past to busy herself with a filing cabinet. The diva looks down at the appointment book open on Santana's desk, finding confirmation that Santana was exaggerating her busy day quite significantly.

"You're clear until 11, Santana."

"I don't always write bookings in," Santana shoots, defensively, turning to see Rachel mimicking her earlier gesture of tapping a pen against the diary.

"I know for a fact that you do," Rachel counters with a smug glare, "Because when I rang yesterday to ask Randy if you would be free to take a meeting with me this morning his exact words were _Yeah, that will be fine... according to the book, no one is in until 11 and Santana ALWAYS writes in our bookings._"

For a moment it looks as though Santana might challenge Rachel but, as she opens her mouth to speak, a curiosity passes through her eyes and they soften.

"A _meeting_? With _me_?" Santana shakes her head, "What for?"

"This!" Rachel waves her phone in front of Santana's face, emphatically.

Santana groans dismissively, "Are we still talking about that?"

"We've barely talked about it _at all_," Rachel growls in annoyance, "And I really don't understand why you're being like this."

"And I really don't understand what you want from me?"

"I want you to listen to this again," Rachel tells her, holding one of the headphones out to Santana, "I'm trying to help you."

"You're trying to help me listen to an mp3?" Santana barks, "I think I've got audio technology covered, Rachel... I work at a fucking recording studio."

"Don't be such a smartass, Santana," Rachel whines with a roll of her eyes, "It's not very becoming."

"Your face isn't very becoming," Santana mumbles.

"Really?" Rachel laughs derisively, "That's the best you've got? The Santana Lopez I went to high school with would be embarrassed by you right now."

"Yeah, well, the Rachel Berry I went to high school with would have taken the hint and shut the hell up by now! Oh, no wait... she wouldn't have. God, Berry, are you _ever_ going to get sick of the sound of your own voice?"

"Probably not. And you know what? I'm not going to get sick of the sound of yours, either!"

A long moment of silence passes between them. It's stark in contrast to the volume their arguing voices had reached and it feels heavy with meaning and understanding. Santana can't wrap her head around it completely and she starts to feel uncomfortable, shuffling from one foot to the other. Rachel smiles warmly at her.

"You're _good_, Santana."

Santana lifts her gaze from where it had dropped to the floor and shakes her head awkwardly.

"I'm not that good."

"You are. And I think you know you are."

"Not like you, though."

"Well, no," Rachel chuckles, dismissively, "No one is suggesting_ that_."

Santana's eyes narrow, "Brittany did."

It comes out before she can do much to stop it, but the look on Rachel's face makes her glad it happened.

"Brittany what?" Rachel shakes her head, her tone suggesting she genuinely didn't understand Santana's meaning. She did, of course, and they both know it. Santana smirks, the first real smile she has since arriving at work.

"Wait," Rachel continues, "Brittany has heard you sing?"

"Oh, um... yeah, I guess."

"Why wouldn't she tell me?" Rachel muses, almost to herself.

"It's not that big a deal."

Santana's comment is quiet and possibly a question. Rachel looks at her curiously.

"You really don't think so, do you?"

"Well, no," Santana answers genuinely, "I mean, so what? I can sort of carry a tune. So can a lot of people."

"No," Rachel almost shouts, "don't do that. Don't play it down. _You_ don't just _carry a tune_, Santana. You _create_ it. You took that song and did things with it that _not _a lot of people can do. And I know you feel it. I don't know what happened to you. I mean, I don't know everything. I know you've been through a lot... but, if the girl I knew six years ago was aware she could sing like that, I can't help but wonder why the hell she wasn't shoving it in all our faces?"

Santana smiles and then completely crumbles. She shakes her head brusquely, forcing back the tears that she can feel welling in her eyes.

"I was scared," she whispers honestly, surprising herself and Rachel.

"Of what?" Rachel takes a step towards Santana and gently places her arm on the girl's shoulder.

"Of people thinking I was a loser," Santana admits, "... like you."

Rachel's face falls a little as she drops her hand from Santana's shoulder.

"Sorry," Santana offers, "Habit."

"It's okay."

"But, I mean, it's also kinda true. I almost joined the Glee club... but, you know, everyone hated you guys. And putting myself in your company would have sent me to the opposite end of the popularity scale, which seemed like a really silly idea. Everyone _loved_ me."

"Everyone was _scared _of you."

"Well, it was the same thing as far as I was concerned," Santana pauses to consider how ridiculous that sounds now. She smiles at Rachel, knowing that the diva never quite reached any real sort of popularity, despite a couple of successful competitions for the Glee club and the small boost it gave her status being friends with Quinn.

"I got slushied once, you know?" Santana continues softly, "It really hurt."

"Yeah, it's the dye," Rachel nods, almost nostalgically, "It stings your eyes."

"That's not what I meant."

Rachel nods, again.

"I know."

Santana knows that Rachel would understand better than anyone how it felt. She must have seen the diva get a slushie tossed in her face, at least once a week, their entire Sophomore year. The motivation to avoid reliving the experience didn't come from the pain caused by cold ice or eyes full of food coloring. It came from the pain caused by realizing _why_ someone threw it at you in the first place. The humiliation of being deemed uncool, for whatever reason. Being singled out and branded loser. At least, that was Santana's motivation. Obviously, Rachel wanted to sing more than she wanted people to like her. Santana finds that realization slightly surprising and strangely uncomfortable. She feels a pang of regret.

"I never had the passion that you did," Santana admits.

"Maybe you didn't then," Rachel suggests, "But, you do now."

Santana's eyebrows furrow as she blushes, "You think I want to be a singer?" A pause. "You think I _could _be a singer?"

"No."

"Oh."

Santana is surprised by her own disappointment. She has never let herself consider a career as a singer. She knows she's good, she always has. But, with every passing year she has convinced herself more and more that it's just too late for her. All the bullshit things that she let get in her way when she was a teenager had transformed into actual real life obstacles and then it just got to a point where this was her life and that was okay. But, hearing Rachel Berry tell her that she has talent sparked something inside her this morning that gave her a moment, just one moment, where she thought... _maybe_. She's ready to pretend that moment never happened when Rachel speaks, again.

"You _are_ a singer, Santana."

"Oh."

"Music has been a part of my life since I was a fetus," Rachel continues, "And even just a few years in this business feels like an eternity. I know what I'm talking about. I know the difference between someone who can sing and someone who is a singer. It's in your soul Santana. It's something that you _have_ to do. And _that_ is what I am trying to help you with."

Santana suddenly feels a little guilty for being so snarky with Rachel earlier. She's finding it difficult to process Rachel's words, but she doesn't doubt their genuineness.

"How?"

There must be a hint of willingness in Santana's voice, because Rachel beams.

"We start by having a meeting," Rachel looks at her watch and then back up at Santana, suddenly all business and talking at full speed, "I allowed for another twenty minutes to deal with your reluctance and/or abusiveness and then my manager will join us. Quinn was supposed to be here as well to help calm you down but, as I mentioned, she's not returning my phone calls. I'm sure she's just busy with, um, whoever. So, that's fine. And besides, you seem to be at least a little responsive now, so we don't really need her for this part anyway."

Rachel continues to ramble on, nodding to herself as though ticking off items on a mental checklist.

"_The Santana Plan_," Santana slowly nods her own head, finally making the connection.

"_The Santana Plan_," Rachel echoes in confirmation, looking up at Santana.

Rachel taps out a text message on her phone and glances at her watch, again. When she looks back up at Santana she finds the latina staring at her with an unreadable expression on her face.

"What?"

"Thank you."

"I haven't done anything, yet," Rachel says, almost dismissively, "Thank me when you're rich."

Santana laughs but doesn't allow herself to think of the possibility that this might actually go somewhere. Right now she is just humoring Rachel and going with the flow. Rachel's phone beeps and she nods at the message before looking back up at Santana.

"You know," she continues, "there's someone else you should be thanking before me."

Santana doesn't even have to think about it. She sighs, her heart clenching with a small pang of... something.

"Did she really think I would get mad?"

"Do you blame her?" Rachel smiles, "You can be a little _difficult_."

"Bite me," Santana shoots back, but she is smiling. And only half serious.

"She cried," Rachel reveals, "When she heard your voice. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked up at me and simply said _What can we do? How do we help her?_"

Santana feels a lump lodge itself in her throat.

"She reckons she's already your biggest fan," Rachel continues, moving closer to Santana so she can give her arm a nudge, "But, I told her she had competition. And now that I know Brittany has heard you sing, I'd wager we'll both be given a run for our money."

Santana blushes deeply and drops her eyes to the ground once again. Rachel laughs.

"I never thought I'd see you like this, Santana," Rachel teases, "All bashful and genuinely modest. It's weird."

"Tell me about it," Santana replies, "It just feels plain wrong."

Rachel laughs, "Well, you better make it right. I just texted my manager and he'll be here soon. If we're going to get you any kind of career, it's him we need to convince that you could be a superstar."

Santana gulps so loudly it's almost cartoonish.

"Don't worry," Rachel laughs, "I'm only half serious. He's a tough critic but he knows talent when he sees it. And so do I. You've got this."

"Wait, he hasn't heard me sing?" Santana asks, receiving confirmation with a nod of Rachel's head, "why didn't you just play him the song off your phone?"

"He doesn't trust recordings. Plus, he's a _full package_ kind of guy. He needs to see your... um... how you look."

"Great," Santana rolls her eyes.

"No, it's not like that."

Rachel is far from convincing. Santana has been working in a recording studio long enough to know exactly what it's like, exactly what kind of guy Rachel's manager is going to be.

"So," she sneers, "has he seen your _full package_, Berry?"

Santana expects Rachel to act offended, reverting to the prudish affectations of her 17 year old self. Instead, she just seems a little grossed out.

"Ew, no!" she squeals.

Santana narrows her eyes, unsure of how to read Rachel's reaction.

"Really?" she presses, "What's the music industry equivalent of the _casting couch_?"

Rachel shakes her head. Not as a gesture of denial, but rather in an attempt to get the thought out of her head. It's as though she's less affronted by Santana suggesting she'd sleep her way to the top and more disturbed by the idea doing of anything sexual with this guy.

"You're way off, Santana," Rachel tells her, almost laughing, "He's like a brother to me. In fact, soon he kind of will be. Oh, speak of the devil!"

Rachel smiles, acknowledging a presence behind her and Santana's stomach churns in a way that's becoming upsettingly familiar. She spins to face the door and is met with the smarmy-as-fuck face of one Jason Mitchell.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."


	21. Chapter 21

"No. No no no no. Uh uh."

Santana shakes her head vigorously and turns away, retreating to behind her desk where she promptly sits down and starts to shuffle around some folders.

"Santana," Rachel hisses in a low whisper, "what are you doing?"

She wears a twisted smile that is equal parts annoyed and uncomprehending. Santana doesn't answer. She doesn't even look up. Rachel huffs and moves right up to Santana's chair, leaning down so that her face is only a few inches from Santana's.

"Santana," she says again, in a hushed growl, "first impressions are really important in this business. Whatever switch just flicked in your brain, flick it back! Jason is not going to respond well to your attitude. If you want to have any chance of working with him, you need to stand back up and be on your best behaviour!"

Santana does stand up, but it's not for Jason. She leans forward, causing Rachel to retreat slightly.

"There is no way in hell," Santana spits, "that I am _behaving_ myself for that guy."

She can tell by the look on Rachel's face that the diva is trying desperately to figure out what is going on.

"Santana," drawls Jason, as he sidles up to her desk, "So nice to see you, again."

"You're an ass. Is anything that comes out of your mouth _ever_ true?"

"Santana!" Rachel chastises before turning to Jason with a smile, "Sorry, Mitch... she obviously hasn't had her coffee this morning."

Rachel kicks Santana, very unsubtly, in the shin. Jason laughs.

"It's okay, Rachel," he offers, "Santana is just showing me some tough love, as always, isn't that right?"

"Nope."

Santana shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. Somehow their familiarity had gone completely over Rachel's head when Jason first greeted Santana but, now, as she looks between the two of them, Jason with his smug grin, Santana with her icy glare, she understands that they clearly already know each other. And possibly hate each other.

"Brittany," she says, nodding to herself.

Santana and Jason both look at her quizzically.

"Oh, sorry. I was just trying to figure out how you two... you know," she waves a hand back and forth between Santana and Jason, indicating a connection, "Brittany. You obviously met through Britt, right? That bitch doesn't tell me anything anymore."

Even though she's clearly not being malicious, Santana is just about to go all _Hey, that's my girlfriend you're talking about!_ on Rachel when Jason's expectant smirk stops her. She refuses to give him any ammunition.

"Yeah," she mutters to Rachel.

"Well, that's how we _first_ met," Jason elaborates, "But, we just keep running into each other like this. It's as though the Universe wants us to be together."

Santana just shakes her head and sits back down at her desk, fighting the urge to gag.

"But," he continues, "I haven't seen you for, what, like a week or so?"

The pointedness of his remark is not lost on Santana. He's baiting her, deliberately throwing Quinn in her face, and she hates it. It takes all her strength not to bite.

"Yes, and poor me thought I'd finally caught a break," she says, "But, here you are."

Jason smiles proudly as Randy shuffles dramatically through the front door.

"Sorry, I'm late. The 405 was a bitch!"

Everyone turns to face him, a palpable tension in the air. It momentarily stops Randy in his tracks before he walks calmly to Santana's desk and drops his briefcase at its side.

"Randy," Rachel reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder, "I'd like you to meet my manager, Jason Mitchell."

"It's nice to finally put and face to the voice," Randy says, shaking Jason's hand, "I didn't realize you would be joining Miss Berry and Santana for their, um, meeting."

The last comment is a question for Santana and he looks over at her with a cock of his head. He's confused about why his office manager would even be having a "meeting" with Rachel Berry in the first place. Weren't they friends? When Rachel had called yesterday to ask if Santana had free time in the morning, he assumed they were just going out for a coffee or something.

"Meeting?" Santana laughs, turning from Randy to Rachel, "There's no_ meeting_."

She's being jokingly dismissive, but there is a pointedness in her tone that makes it very clear to Rachel that there will indeed be no meeting.

"That's just Rachel being her over dramatic self," she continues with a laugh, "We were just catching up. And _Mr. Mitchell_ here just happened to be nearby so Rachel thought she'd show him our facilities. They were just about to leave."

"That's not-"

Rachel is cut off by the ringing office phone and Santana breathes a heavy sigh of relief as she reaches over to answer it, hearing Randy tell the others that he will happily walk them out.

"Hello?" Santana says into the receiver, her attention on the door, making sure that Rachel and Jason are well and truly gone.

"That's not a very professional way to answer the phone at work."

_I love you._ It's the first thing that pops into Santana's head when she hears Brittany's voice. Her heart jumps into her throat and she shakes her head, clearing away the scary, though not entirely unwelcome, thought.

"Santana?" the blonde giggles.

Composing herself, Santana hums into the phone with absolute gratitude, "You have no idea how good your timing is."

"Aw, really?" Brittany says, "You having a bad day already?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I can't say I hate the idea of needing to make you feel better tonight."

Santana perks up at the less than subtle implication of Brittany's words and she finds herself watching the clock for the rest of the day.

* * *

Santana leans against the door frame and watches her girlfriend fly across the studio floor, beautiful and graceful and unbearably sexy. She is wearing a white tank top that is three sizes too big, gaping at the sides to reveal a black sports bra underneath, and tight shorts that cover only the very tops of her thighs. Nothing else. Santana has been watching her dance for a good five minutes, the blonde so entranced in her own world that she's failed to notice the hungry eyes following her around the room.

Brittany can feel her heart beating roughly against her chest, her blood coursing through her veins, as she pushes herself slowly but deliberately in any direction that her feet will take her. Every inch of her skin buzzes with an expectant kind of energy that makes her feel like her body is covered in millions of exposed nerve endings. Attempting to shake it out or brush it off, her limbs are both graceful and careless in a dance of pure need. Coming to a stop in the middle of the room, she takes a few deep breaths, her hips undulating back and forth on their own, and drags her fingernails up her thighs and across her stomach. She swallows hard, finding no relief from the pulse between her legs that has been building steadily since her conversation with Santana. That was eight hours ago; she has been somewhat_ uncomfortable_ for most of the day. She fists her hair with one hand, running the other over her stomach, her fingertips tracing the red marks left by her nails.

Santana stops breathing as she watches her girlfriend push her hand down further, pressing it firmly between her legs. Brittany moans and throws her head back at the contact and Santana feels a pulse between her own legs that almost has her on the floor. She squeezes her thighs together and grips the door frame, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and closing her eyes. It's a misguided attempt to block out the sight of Brittany's dancing form, to quell the fire it has stoked deep within her belly. Because now, with her eyes closed, she can see every curve, remember every word, feel every touch. Everything Brittany has ever shown, said or done to her floods into her mind and fills her senses. Dizzy, her eyes shoot back open.

Brittany continues to sway to the music as she trails the hand she had threaded through her hair down across her jaw and neck, running it closely over her breast and down her right side. Her left hand is still between her legs and she rocks on the balls of her feet, pressing into it before bringing it back up to her stomach to meet the other. The energy that escapes her feels like tiny fireworks exploding all over her body, pinching and teasing at her crawling skin. She runs both hands over her hips and up and down her thighs, rolling her head from side to side, clawing at herself in frustration. She hums insistently, as one would when trying to stifle a scream or ignore the pierce of a needle, and once again slips a hand between her legs. It's anything but firm when she presses her fingers against herself, but it's momentarily enough. Santana chokes on a gasp as Brittany moans. The blonde stills for only the briefest instant, but it's enough to tell Santana that she heard her, that she knows she's there. Watching.

The knowledge that Santana is watching her almost sends Brittany over the edge. Her arousal pounds against her core and a small whimper escapes her lips. She hears Santana's feet shuffle on the floor, the tentative steps giving away Santana's indecision. Brittany smiles, understanding Santana's predicament, feeling herself in exactly the same position. There's something so powerfully erotic about watching your lover in such a desperate state of arousal. Or feeling them watch you. To stay apart, taunting her and teasing yourself, or to give in and let her touch you where it burns? Allowing the thought of relief to enter her head so clearly, she makes the decision for both of them very quickly.

"Santana," she moans, breathless and desperate.

Santana's hands are on her in an instant, the brunette having moved much closer than Brittany realized. She grabs Brittany's hips from behind and presses her body into Brittany's back, burying her face into the blonde's neck and breathing in the scent of her hair. Santana brushes her lips over Brittany's damp skin, feather light but still enough that she tastes salt. It causes a quiet rumble deep in her throat.

Brittany's entire body shudders and her hands shoot from her own thighs to the back of Santana's, swiftly moving them up to rest on Santana's ass. Brittany moans as Santana presses her hands flat against the dancer's stomach, right on her hip bones, simultaneously pulling Brittany back and pushing her own hips forward. They are locked into each other, not a breath of air between them. Santana glides her hands down over the front of Brittany's shorts and can already feel the warmth radiating from her girlfriend. They stay like that for a few minutes, swaying to the intoxicating soul music pumping out of Brittany's speakers, the gentle movement an exciting contrast to the wild rhythms of both their heart rates. Prompted by an appreciative moan from Santana, Brittany brings her hands up a little higher and pushes her fingertips underneath the waistband of Santana's jeans, her nails digging in just where the small of Santana's back begins to curve out. She feels Santana's skin prickle beneath her fingers, her tiny firework sparks passing between them.

Keeping her back to Santana, Brittany moves forward, almost imperceptibly, just enough so that she can trail her hands around and in between them, to clasp onto the button at the front of Santana's jeans. Santana doesn't waste a second, pulling her hips away from Brittany so the blonde can undo it. The tight waistband releases and Santana feels her insides clench. Her body involuntarily pushes into Brittany, her breasts squashing shamelessly against her back. Once Brittany has the zipper down, she hooks her fingers into the belt loops on either side of Santana's jeans and pushes her ass back into Santana. She hits just the right spot and feels the brunette's knees buckle slightly behind her. Humming through a smirk, she grinds back even harder before tightening her grip on Santana's jeans and slowly starts to lower them, by lowering herself.

Santana places her hands on Brittany's shoulders as the dancer bends her knees and moves slowly from side to side, twisting her way down the length of Santana's body. As she reaches the floor she spins around to face Santana, looking up into her girlfriend's lust-filled eyes. She swallows hard, her throat thick and her lips suddenly, and excruciatingly, dry. Licking them slowly, and without breaking eye contact, she taps gently at Santana's calves and the brunette steps shakily out of her jeans, thanking herself for having the foresight to take off her shoes when she first walked into the studio. Brittany pushes the discarded pants away and stands in a slow motion kind of body-roll, raking her fingers up the length of Santana's legs and sides, both girls swaying subtly to the music. The air in the room is as electrified as Brittany's skin; fervent and desperate but surprisingly patient. The moment Brittany is fully upright, their hands are all over each other again but their touches have become gentle, careful. Almost tentative. Though they both ache with want, the urgency is overpowered by their ardent appreciation of one another. Brittany's hands rest on the small of Santana's back, prudently fidgeting with the bottom of Santana's shirt, as she lets herself drown in coffee-dark eyes. Santana runs her fingers over Brittany's bare shoulders, hardly making contact, sending a shiver down the blonde's spine. Her fingers find their way into Brittany's hair and begin to massage lightly at the back of Brittany's neck, the blonde humming as she leans her head back into Santana's attentive hands. With Brittany's neck exposed Santana can't help but lean in and graze her nose and lips over the milky white skin. After what feels like years, she peels herself away and Brittany follows, the two girls standing perfectly upright and perfectly still. For two beats.

The music track kicks over, drawing Brittany's attention back to their dance. Taller by a few inches, she presses her lips to Santana's forehead before wrapping her arms around Santana's back. She presses her palms firmly into the girl's shoulder blades and dips her back, bending with her. She nips at Santana's collar bone with her teeth before pulling them upright then instantly dips Santana again, this time standing tall and using her strong arms to swing Santana in a slow, wide circle and back up to press firmly against her chest. She sways back and forth with the music, Santana allowing her own body to move as one with Brittany's. When the blonde leans forward, Santana falls back. When Brittany arches away, Santana bends towards her. Although she knows Brittany is a strong dancer, Santana can't help but think that the way they so effortlessly move together comes solely from the unwillingness of their bodies to be apart from each other.

Brittany rolls herself against Santana and drops her head so they are dancing cheek to cheek, the brunette's mind fogging over from the warm breath against her ear. They couldn't be any closer to each other if they tried. The way they move, they way they touch, the way they breathe against each other; it's tender and sensual and everything. Santana feels her heart constrict in a way that causes her to drop her head onto Brittany's shoulder, as though it's too heavy for the thoughts that are flowing in. Well, just one thought really. A million emotions, one thought.

Santana has always felt not quite right. It's almost like she has been constantly on edge for years, as though permanently stuck in that Lima Heights front yard, waiting to hear the sound of screeching tires. Or standing in front of her mother's judgmental gaze, waiting to be rejected. Forsaken But right now, here in Brittany's arms, she doesn't think she's ever felt so safe. The body against her is warm and soft and radiates so much tender strength that she doesn't doubt it's ability to always protect her. Even now as she's dipped and swayed, she completely trusts Brittany not just to hold on and not let her fall, but also to lift her back up. To keep her safe and close and happy. Not because she can, but because she wants to. She needs to. Santana knows it, because she can feel it mirrored in herself. Her desire to look after Brittany for as long as she can courses through her veins. It travels in her blood, right to her heart. She is suddenly aware that for the rest of her life she will always want Brittany Pierce. She will always need her. She will always care for her. She will always lo-

Brittany licks lightly at Santana's earlobe and runs her right hand down Santana's back. When it lands firmly on Santana's ass, the brunette's attention is yanked back into the moment and she growls out a wicked smile. Her tender thoughts settle themselves quietly out of reach, somewhere deep in her soul, making way for every primal instinct she has. Brittany is already there, her buzzing skin and thrumming pulse needing even more of Santana against her, around her, inside her. Brittany turns her hips slightly to place one of her legs gently between Santana's, before trailing her hand down further and grabbing onto the underside of Santana's thigh. Santana lets out a gasp as Brittany takes hold of her leg and hitches it up, causing Santana to grind down slightly onto Brittany's thigh. As the sensation registers, Brittany pushes up to meet her and Santana lets out a guttural moan. Her arms tighten around Brittany's neck as she rides the blonde's gentle thrusts, their lips teasing so close to each other in an exquisitely torturous dance.

Santana's breathing starts to become ragged as she struggles against her need for more. She licks her lips and tastes the salt of Brittany's sweaty skin that still lingers there. Her stomach flips and her hips involuntarily push down, eliciting an encouraging moan from Brittany. Spurred on by the sound, Santana lifts her already raised leg higher, curling it completely around Brittany and, this time deliberately, thrusting down. Brittany immediately reacts, jerking her own hips upwards. She leans down and loops her arm around the leg Santana still has planted on the ground, yanking it up forcefully until Santana gives her full weight to Brittany. Santana wraps her leg around Brittany's waist, to join the other, where they lock together at the ankles. Santana now sits upon Brittany's hips, the blonde still standing and canting her hips back and forth in time with the music. She hasn't missed a single beat.

Santana's chest is now inches from Brittany's face, the brunette's arms wrapped bracingly around Brittany's head and neck. Her shirt clings teasingly to the round tops of her breasts and Brittany's breath catches in her throat. She has to clear it a few times before she finds her voice.

"Baby," she chokes out in a pleading whisper, "let go."

Santana leans back, as much as she feels she can, to meet Brittany's eyes. The blonde sees her confusion and nods encouragingly, tightening her grip on Santana's thighs.

"It's ok, I got you," she adds, "I need you to take off your shirt."

Santana looks down at herself and is almost genuinely shocked that she still has clothes on. She flashes Brittany a wicked grin and squeezes the back of her neck, looking for reassurance. Brittany nods and Santana quickly lets go, reaching down to take hold of her shirt before whipping it off over her head in one swift motion. Brittany giggles at her enthusiasm and spins them around a couple of times on the spot. It catches Santana by surprise and she grips back onto Brittany to keep her balance, her fingers tangling in the dancer's long, blonde locks. Her legs involuntarily clamp themselves tighter around Brittany's waist and Santana winces in sympathy for Brittany, _sorry_ on her lips as she peers down at her girlfriend. But, there is no sign of discomfort on Brittany's face. Contrarily, the blonde's eyes flare dark blue with bliss.

They hungrily take in the sight of Santana's bare chest and Brittany hesitates only a second before inching her head forward and pressing her lips wetly against Santana's skin. She kisses along Santana's collar bone and across the exposed skin where the curve of Santana's breast disappears beneath her black bra. She tugs at the material with her teeth quickly before dipping her tongue just underneath the cup and running it down to the valley between her breasts.

Santana squirms against Brittany, the lascivious attention of the blonde's tongue setting her skin on fire. With her arms still wrapped around Brittany's head, she clamps down with her hands, pressing Brittany's face roughly against her chest. The blonde digs her fingernails into Santana's thighs as she loses all ability to breathe. The sting shoots through Santana, right up to her fingertips, and she yanks Brittany's head back hastily.

"Sorry," she pants.

Brittany just shakes her head and adjusts her hold on Santana, putting her mouth greedily back on Santana's hot skin. Both girls moan gratefully as they continue to move against each other, still in time with the music. Brittany's hips roll up into Santana as the brunette bears down on her heavily. Brittany needs more of Santana, needs to touch her everywhere all at once, but her hands are busy supporting the very body that is using her hips as a rocking chair. She tenses her left arm to strengthen the brace and recklessly moves her right hand away, snaking it eagerly between her body and Santana's. The sudden addition of Brittany's wandering fingers, as they delve beneath Santana's underwear, causes Santana's vice-like leg grip to contract, her arms to clamp a little too forcefully, and once again Brittany is on the verge of suffocation, her face buried deep in Santana's cleavage. With her hold on Santana becoming precarious and her lungs desperate for oxygen, Brittany takes her only option. Parting her lips, as much as she can with them pressed firmly into Santana's chest, she bares her teeth and bites down hard.

Santana yelps, pulling Brittany's head back by her hair.

"Damnit," Santana growls breathlessly, "sorry."

"This is getting a little tricky," Brittany smiles, removing her hand from between them to take better hold of Santana.

Santana squirms, pushing her hips into Brittany as a small whine of protest escapes from her lips.

"Do you want me to drop you?" Brittany smirks, too breathless to laugh at Santana's pouty expression.

Santana gasps, unwrapping one of her arms from around Brittany's neck to press her hand to her chest in mock horror.

"Don't worry," Brittany grins, "I won't let you go."

The words set fire to Santana's heart and Brittany can't read the change in expression, Santana's eyes suddenly fervent and vulnerable all at once. Santana leans into Brittany so that her mouth is right by the blonde's ear.

"Promise?"

Though she whispers, Santana's words are heavy with more than a one word question would suggest. She brushes her lips over the top of Brittany's ear before pulling back and meeting the dancer's always receptive eyes. And with one look, one heart-clenchingly overwhelming glimpse at Santana's face, Brittany understands that she doesn't mean_ now_. She's not asking Brittany to promise not to drop her. Brittany allows her mouth to curl into the smallest of smiles, but she wants to make sure that her expression reflects all the earnestness of Santana's.

"I promise."

It's little more than a whisper, but Brittany S. Pierce has never meant anything so much in her entire life.

Suddenly, Santana's lips are on Brittany's in a kiss so passionate that, yet again, Brittany feels like she can't breathe. It's only fleeting, however, Santana pulling away and pressing down into Brittany's hips.

"Will you please, then... for the love of God," she pants, "... take me to your bed?"

Brittany doesn't just hear Santana's words, she feels them. They hit her like a fiery pulse right between her legs and spread throughout her whole body, coursing through her veins, setting her blood on fire and reigniting the tiny fireworks that dance across every inch of her skin. She doesn't hesitate, tightening her embrace around Santana, whose legs impulsively tighten themselves, and strides towards the room that was, once upon a time, an office. It is now, undeniably, a bedroom.

_Their bedroom._

Brittany walks them to the unfolded sofa bed and stops when her knees hit the mattress. But, instead of dropping Santana onto it, she turns around and lowers herself, sitting down on the edge, Santana in her lap.

Santana hums her approval, finally loosening her grip around Brittany's neck and running her hands over the blonde's chest. She feels the result of Brittany's exertion on her fingertips; a glistening moisture that covers her skin and stokes the flames of desire in Santana's belly. It's too much and she leans down, licking across Brittany's chest and up her neck. Her tongue trails along Brittany's jaw, up to her ear and back down, before she brings her mouth to rest right by the blonde's parted lips. Brittany nudges her head forward, but Santana pulls back slightly, not allowing them to make contact. There is no music in this room, no sound except for the deep, ragged breaths coming from both girls. But, their dance continues. Santana lifts herself up a little before dropping back down, rolling her hips into Brittany, back and forth, up and down. Brittany's eyes roll back as she bites down on her bottom lip, wanting so desperately feel Santana's mouth on hers. She takes in a deep breath and waits until Santana is sitting back down in her lap, as close as possible, and clamps her hands down on Santana's ass. The brunette attempts to lift off again, to continue her teasing dance, but Brittany is too strong and holds her completely still. Santana can't even move an inch. At least, not an inch _off_ Brittany. But, she can definitely move _towards_ her. She cocks her head to the left and raises an eyebrow, smirking at Brittany that _I guess that was the point_. Figuring it's a win-win situation, Santana is happy to go with it.

She leans forward as though she is going to kiss Brittany, but stops a few inches short. Pushing hard into Brittany with her hips, Santana takes her hands from their steadying position on Brittany's shoulders and reaches behind herself. She unclasps her bra and removes it deftly, swinging it in the air a couple of times before allowing it to fall from her fingers and onto the floor. There are maybe two or three inches between Brittany's face and Santana's breasts. She can feel Brittany's eyes on her and instantly blushes. She's not sure why; it's not exactly their first time. But, something about it all feels new.

"You're so beautiful," Brittany whispers.

When Santana looks down she finds a fervent set of blue eyes staring back at her, full of unbridled desire and unmistakable affection. All at once she feels incredibly turned on, completely adored and a little like she wants to cry. Her heart pounds so hard against her chest that it causes her breath to catch in her throat. She closes her eyes but can't get her heart to settle, Brittany's hands wandering all over her body, her hips continuing to roll up into her, gently but insistently. Suddenly she feels Brittany's thumb brush over a nipple and her eyes fly open with a deep gasp.

Brittany smirks, but her eyes are concerned and curious.

"Where did you go?"

Santana swallows the lump in her throat and takes a deep breath.

"I'm right here."

"Mmhmm," is all Brittany can manage in response as her persistent hands confirm that, yes, Santana is very much _right there_.

Santana presses into Brittany once again, this time using her hips, her legs, her arms, her chest. Every part of her yearns to be connected to Brittany. The ache between her legs has suddenly become unbearable.

"I need you right now."

Brittany's hand is already poised. She gently moves aside the wet fabric of her girlfriend's underwear and slowly pushes her fingers inside Santana. Santana's head falls back with a long, low groan of relief. She starts to move against Brittany again, slowly and deliberately, Brittany matching her rhythm with ease.

"Touch me, too, Santana," Brittany moans, "I'm already so close and I want us to come together."

Santana's hand fumbles blindly between them, finally finding the waistband of Brittany's shorts and clumsily shoves her fingers beneath the black lycra. She's met with a warm wetness that actually makes her salivate a little. She swallows, blushing furiously at the complete lack of control she has over her body's reactions to Brittany. The blonde in question bucks impatiently, Santana's fingers nudging against her teasingly, and Santana can see the desperation in Brittany's eyes as they stare at each other intensely. When she licks her lips and bites down on the bottom one in frustration, Santana realizes that Brittany is not just waiting for her fingers. She licks her own lips and bends down to position them right in front of Brittany's. As she brings their mouths together, Santana runs her fingers through Brittany's slick folds, coating them thoroughly in an instant, and pushes them inside.

"Fuck," Brittany whimpers against Santana's lips.

Santana nods into her in agreement. This isn't going to take long.

Their rhythm is instant, Santana effortlessly riding Brittany's skilled hips and her insistent hand. Their free arms claw desperately at each other as everything becomes faster, harder and hotter. Their lips remain hungrily connected, their tongues pushing back and forth fervidly. It only takes a matter of minutes. Brittany is the first to go, but the feeling of her clenching around Santana's fingers sends Santana over the edge right behind her.

Their bodies tighten around each other, Santana's knees digging into Brittany's sides, Brittany's arm clamping down across Santana's back, as they hold each other steady through the waves of overwhelming pleasure. As their bodies relax against each other their breaths become longer, deeper, calmer and, once she regains control of her senses, Brittany realizes that Santana is shaking. She gently runs her fingers through Santana's long, dark hair, making soft cooing noises and rocking her gently, the latina still perched intimately in her lap.

"Are you okay?" she whispers, eventually.

Santana's eyes remain closed as she nuzzles her forehead against Brittany's. She's feeling such a strange mix of emotions that she has no idea how to process any of them, let alone articulate them.

"I've never felt like this," she ventures, her voice cracking slightly.

"Mmm," Brittany hums, "tell me about it."

Brittany's tone is light and giggly and accented with afterglow. Though she's not being at all dismissive, Santana still thinks she missed the point. She didn't.

"Brittany..." Santana whispers.

"I know."

Santana wants to say something else. To say something more. Since driving away from Ohio all those years ago, she's developed a strong distaste for leaving things unfinished and right now that's exactly how she feels, as though something important is being left undone.

"I..."

The rest of the words catch in her throat before she can even figure out what they are. Her eyes are open now and darting frantically all over Brittany. The blonde cups Santana's face in both hands and kisses her gently. Then more forcefully. Eventually, Brittany's tongue finds its way into Santana's mouth, dragging over her lips and past her teeth. What little chance Santana had of finding her words is now completely gone as her heart starts to beat erratically, as though trying to jump through her chest to find Brittany's. Brittany pulls back suddenly, her eyes apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she breathes into Santana, "You weren't finished..."

Santana smirks, choosing to believe that Brittany was not talking about her forgotten sentence.

"Damn right, I wasn't."

And with that, Santana's mouth is on Brittany's again as her left hand disappears inside her shorts. The blonde gasps, pushing into Santana agreeably. Santana's other hand fists the material of Brittany's tank top roughly, clumsily jerking it upwards.

"This time," Santana growls into Brittany's mouth, "I need you naked."


	22. Chapter 22

"Tell me I'm not going crazy," Santana finishes off her rant with a genuine hint of concern.

Brittany raises an eyebrow to her, barely concealing a smile.

"I mean," Santana adds, "it's freaking weird that he just keeps showing up in all these different places, right?"

"Not really," Brittany shrugs, nonchalantly.

Santana scowls at her. Brittany smiles and continues.

"No, I get that it's annoying but, when you think about it, it's not that weird. He's connected to me and Rachel... and we're both pretty involved in your life now. Like, you kind of work with Rachel and you... kind of _live _with me..." Brittany qualifies the last part with air quotes as she kisses Santana's blushing cheek and climbs out of bed, "Your chances of running into him every now and then are pretty high. Would you be giving it this much thought if he wasn't the most repulsive human being on the face of the earth?"

She hears Santana sigh as she grabs her tank top off the floor and throws in on without bothering about a bra.

"I guess not," Santana concedes grumpily, slightly worried that Brittany may have just proven that she perhaps _is_ going a little crazy. She groans in frustration, "It's just... I could deal with it if he was just my girlfriend's best friend's fiance's brother…"

Brittany nods along as Santana speaks, as though checking off each of the connections in her mind. Santana watches as her blue eyes look up in concentration and then back down with a final approving nod.

"But," Santana continues, "he's also Rachel's manager. Which potentially makes him mine. I mean, if that even happens. And obviously there's the thing with Quinn. Somehow he's crept into some really important roles in my life."

Santana is sitting up, leaning against the back of the sofa bed, her hands fidgeting in her lap. She wears a petulant albeit slightly defeated scowl.

"Ok," Brittany says, sitting back down on the bed in front of her, "listen to me. Firstly, there is no _if_ when it comes the music thing. Santana, the world needs to hear your voice and we're not done talking about that…"

Brittany places her fingers under Santana's chin and lifts her head so they are looking each other in the eye. Not a single part of what she just said to Santana was a question. Not even a suggestion. They _would_ be talking about this, again. The girls had already discussed what it would mean to have Jason as a manager, Brittany dealing a lot better with the idea than her girlfriend._ "I know, baby. I know, I know, I know. As a friend, an acquaintance, even as a person... Jason is beyond horrible_," Brittany had said, "_But as a manager? He's one of the best_."

She had told Santana of how hard he worked to get Rachel to where she is today. Obviously Rachel's talent, passion and determination had played the biggest parts, but Jason had made sure there were a lot of doors open to her. And it hadn't been easy. He struggled to make ends meet for a long time and sacrificed a lot to ensure Rachel got the career she deserved. And while his motivation may not have been so selfless (his tenacity equaled only by his greed), it can't be ignored that he got the right results. Whatever they thought of him as a person, both Brittany and Rachel were on the same page about his abilities as a manager.

Santana had sat stubbornly cross-armed through Brittany's dissertation of Jason, pouting that he could cure cancer for all she cared and it still wouldn't be enough to make her like him. _"No one is asking for a miracle, honey," _Brittany had laughed, _"but you should know that 'date a rockstar' is on my Bucket List, so I'm determined to see this happen." _Though its inspiration is not so shallow, that determination shows now in Brittany's eyes and it makes Santana smile. The blonde continues.

"Secondly, you are giving Jason way too much attention. He is not worth your time or energy outside of 'business' stuff. You and I both know that the thing with Quinn won't last," she raises her eyebrows a little, trying her best to be dismissive, "Just try to ignore him when it comes to her, okay?"

"I can't," Santana mumbles softly. Sadly.

"She'll be okay."

"No, it's not that. I just… feel like it's my fault."

"Why?"

Brittany runs her fingers through some loose strands of Santana's hair, waiting patiently for Santana to explain.

"I didn't try hard enough."

"To warn her about him?" Brittany frowns, "Santana, you tried really hard. And if this is anyone's fault, it's mine."

Santana's scowl transforms from frustration to confusion.

"How do you figure?"

"When Quinn first went out with him you told me she just randomly met him on the street, right?" she gestures vaguely towards outside, "He must have been coming to see me or something."

Santana blinks a couple of times as a warm smile creeps slowly across her face.

"That doesn't make you to blame for _anything._ But, I really appreciate you trying to make me feel better."

"That's my job," Brittany grins.

"You do it very well," Santana blushes, remembering how well Brittany did her job last night.

"It worked?" Brittany asks, referring to the present moment, as she runs a finger over Santana's still slightly furrowed brow.

"Hmm, I don't know," Santana teases, "I'm pretty upset. You may have to put in some overtime on this one."

"I see," Brittany says seriously as she crawls over to straddle Santana's lap, "Well, I expect to be compensated accordingly."

Her hands are already under Santana's shirt when the latina nods fervently.

"You will be… very well… looked after…" Santana mumbles between gasps, as Brittany eagerly gets to work.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Making breakfast."

"Wait," Brittany says, taking the bread from Santana's hands before she can put it in the toaster, "I've organized something else for breakfast."

Santana smirks and Brittany shakes her head. She puts the bread back in its bag and nudges a grocery bag on the floor next to Santana with her foot.

"In there," she says, returning to the other side of the room to find her clothes.

Santana watches her walk away for a moment, her gaze lingering appreciatively on her girlfriend's barely covered body, before turning her attention to the contents of the bag. Flour, eggs, maple syrup.

"Pancakes?"

"Uhuh," Brittany nods with a happy grin as she pulls her tank top back on for the second time this morning.

Santana's eyebrows pinch together as she tries to figure out why Brittany would buy ingredients for pancakes when there is no stove top for them to cook on, their little room having only a toaster, a coffee pot and a mini fridge.

"Is there another bag with a _kitchen_ in it that I'm not seeing?"

Brittany gives her that smile. The one that says, _I know you're joking but it's going to appear as though I'm taking your comment literally_. Santana waits. Any second now Brittany is going to call her silly.

"You can't fit a whole kitchen in a grocery bag, silly."

There it is. Santana smiles.

"Besides," Brittany continues, "we don't need to. We're going to use the one upstairs."

Santana stops smiling.

"Okay," Brittany says calmly walking back over to Santana, "before you freak out, Quinn won't be there. You promised Noah you would go see her today and I _really _miss your pancakes. Quinn was actually really grateful to get some babysitters. She probably hasn't been out of the house in weeks… Everybody wins!"

"You... spoke to Quinn?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Britt..."

"What? You're the one that's not talking to her."

"Doesn't that mean that you aren't talking to her, as well? Like, by association or something? You're my girlfriend. You should be on my side."

"I _am_ on your side," Brittany says, "Always. But, also, we both know that there really aren't any sides here. You _just_ told me you feel like you didn't try hard enough. You need to talk to her."

Santana doesn't miss the look that flashes in Brittany's eyes and her face scrunches into a reproachful scowl.

"You lied about her not being there, didn't you?"

"Not exactly."

"Brittany!" Santana whines petulantly.

"Well, she won't be there the _whole_ time. But, it's not like she's going to leave her five year old alone," Brittany explains, "Obviously she'll be there when we arrive."

"So, why don't I just come meet you after she leaves?"

"Or why don't you not be a massive baby and stop avoiding your best friend just because you don't like her boyfriend?"

Santana opens her mouth to argue but Brittany thrusts her palm in Santana's face.

"Shush, I know," she says, "it's not that simple. But, you're never going to work through the complicated stuff if one of you doesn't take the first step."

"Why does it have to be me?" Santana mumbles, her petulance slowly diminishing as Brittany wears her down.

"It doesn't _have_ to be you," the blonde replies, circling her arms around Santana's waist, "but think about how fun it will be, when you're friends again, to throw it in her face that you were the bigger person."

Santana's eyes light up involuntarily and Brittany smirks. She gives her girlfriend a quick peck on the lips and a pat on the ass before walking away with a glance at her watch.

"I told her we'd be there at 10," she says, retrieving some clothes for Santana and tossing them back over her shoulder, "Put these on and grab the groceries."

* * *

Brittany thought it would be polite to arrive like regular people instead of coming up the stairs and sneaking in through Santana's bedroom, which is how they find themselves now standing barely a foot inside the front door, four sets of eyes staring silently at each other. Or, more accurately, Brittany and Noah have been looking between Santana and Quinn and back at each other for about five minutes while Santana and Quinn have been refusing to make eye contact with anyone, both staring defensively out into space.

Brittany clears her throat awkwardly.

Noah sighs.

"This is going well," she remarks with a roll of her eyes.

After a comparatively short silence, Brittany bursts out laughing. Santana glares at her. But Brittany just shakes her head, walking over to Noah for a high five.

"Seriously, guys," she says to both women, "it's pretty embarrassing when the five year old is the most mature person in the room."

Brittany takes Noah's hand and they head into the kitchen, Brittany shooting Santana a pointed look. Santana almost calls out to stop her, but she shakes it off and crosses her arms defiantly across her chest, finally meeting Quinn's eyes.

"I should go," Quinn blurts out, grabbing her bag off the table.

Santana almost lets her leave.

"Wait," she says, with a dramatic sigh.

Quinn pauses mid-stride, halfway across the room, and raises a challenging eyebrow to Santana. Santana rolls her eyes, but lets her guard down. She drops her head and stares at the ground for a few moments.

"I'm sorry," she whispers to her feet.

She is met with silence. Intensely irritated that she went out on a limb and got no response, she lifts her head and prepares to let Quinn have it. But, she can't. Her anger vanishes into thin air and she can't remember a single horrible thing she was about to say. Because Quinn is crying.

"Quinn?"

Instinct takes over and Santana rushes to her side. Stopping just short of throwing her arms around the blonde she winces slightly in frustration.

"Damnit," she mumbles to herself before reaching out a tentative hand. She places it on Quinn's shoulder, "Q?"

Quinn turns abruptly and buries her face in Santana's neck, the blonde's arms wrapping tightly around her.

"I'm so sorry, Santana," she croaks, sniffling and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Hey," Santana whispers against Quinn's hair, "hey, it's okay."

"No!" Quinn almost shouts, pulling away from Santana's neck.

She clears her throat and steadies herself, squaring her shoulders and meeting Santana's eyes with a deep breath.

"No," she says again, a little calmer this time, "it's not okay. I owe you an apology."

"You just gave me one," Santana smiles awkwardly.

"And you think that was enough? For the things I said to you?"

Quinn hangs her head in shame as her tears begin to fall, again. Santana is completely bewildered.

"Quinn, I really appreciate your apology but I don't understand why you're _so_ upset."

There is slight pause before Quinn speaks, as though she was about to say something completely different but changed her mind at the last second.

"Because I was a complete bitch to you."

"Well, yeah," Santana can't help but agree, "But, if you were so upset about it why has it taken you almost two weeks to talk to me? Or, if we're being technical, why has it taken you almost two weeks to let Brittany trick me into coming up here and _then_ talk to me only after I went first?"

"Well, _technically_," Quinn shoots back quietly, but suddenly defensive, "_I_ went first."

Santana arches an eyebrow and Quinn shakes her head, not accepting the challenge.

"Sorry. Habit."

Santana smiles and the tension slowly begins to fade.

"I was expecting a lot worse, you know," Santana ventures tentatively, "Still kind of am."

Quinn nods, painfully aware that Santana would have come up here geared for another fight. She doesn't say anything, though, and Santana considers her carefully for a moment.

"You're upset," Santana reiterates, "but you don't seem _mad_."

It's a question. Quinn nods silently, again.

"So," Santana continues, "You've come to accept the fact that I'm not your boyfriend's biggest fan or…"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Ok, your _lover_ or whatever you want to call him," Santana shudders at her own words.

"No, that's not what I mean…"

Santana's eyes grow curious as Quinn takes a deep, bracing breath. It's one of Quinn's tells; she does it whenever she's about to make an important announcement or some kind of revelation. And, every once in awhile, a confession. There is a resolve in her posture but her eyes are sad.

"Q?"

"Santana," Quinn starts quietly, "you were right."

The brunette resists the urge to raise a smug eyebrow. It's not often Quinn will admit that, even when it's abundantly clear. And, of course, vice versa. But right now it's obvious that Quinn is struggling with something, so Santana waits patiently in silence, wearing her best poker face. She can tell Quinn is trying to find the right words to say whatever it is she has to say. But if she finds them, she doesn't get the chance to use them, a forceful knock at the door interrupting the conversation. When Quinn makes no move to answer the door, Santana gives her a gentle smile and reaches over to open it.

She lets out an involuntary groan of frustration when she discovers who the unexpected visitors are.

"One of these days, Santana, perhaps you could at least pretend to be happy to see me?"

"You're the actress, Berry. Maybe you could just pretend not to care?"

"Rachel?" Quinn moves from behind Santana to confirm that it's Rachel at the door. She's not expecting to see the man who is standing next to her. Nor is Rachel expecting Quinn's reaction.

"Mitch?"

The brunette eyes Quinn perplexedly before both girls turn to Jason.

"You know Quinn?"

"You know Rachel?"

"They're dating," Santana explains to Rachel.

"Mitch and _Rachel_?" Quinn pales.

"_You _and Mitch," Santana rolls her eyes at Quinn.

"You're dating _Mitch_?" Rachel asks.

"No," Quinn responds.

"Wait, you're _not_?" Santana jumps in.

"No," the blonde confirms, turning to Jason, "Why are you here?"

"We're here to see Santana."

"Together?"

"Yes."

"And you know Rachel _how_?"

"She's marrying my brother."

"Plus, he's my manager," Rachel adds.

"And Santana's," Jason follows.

"Santana's _what _now?"

That's Santana.

"Your manager."

"Huh?" Quinn shakes her head and looks back and forth between Jason, Rachel and Santana, her brow furrowing deeply in confusion.

"Welcome to my world," Santana mumbles.

"Seriously, someone needs to draw me a chart."

"I'd take a copy of that," Santana nods appreciatively.

"It's not _that_ complicated."

Brittany's voice is light but her smile is strained as she eyes Jason, re-entering the room with Noah trailing closely behind her.

"Let's see... I met Rachel, Rachel met Jackson, he introduced us to Jason. Jason became Rachel's manager, she got famous and I got to be a dancer. Eventually LA became a more viable base than New York, so we relocated here a few weeks ago and you know the rest," Brittany puts her hand gently on Santana's back, "A handful of happy coincidences with a little help from fate."

Brittany smiles and Santana returns it before adding, "The fate part I can dig... but, it was more like a _truckload_ of coincidences and some of them not so happy."

She glares at Jason who is smiling back at her, "Don't be rude, Santana, Rachel can hear you."

In a rare moment of weakness, Santana allows herself to be baited by Jason.

"I'm not talking about her, asshole."

Rachel smiles.

"Wait," Quinn finally pipes up, "Who's Jackson?"

Rachel's smile falters.

"My brother," Jason answers with bored nonchalance that is too contrived to appear anything other than resentful.

Quinn remembers that of all the personal stuff "Mitch" seemed less than enthusiastic to talk about, his brother was quite obviously at the top of the list. She vaguely recalls his dismissive description that _he plays football_ which, at the time, didn't seem like a very big deal. A lot of people play football. But, now, as she puts the names together, it has a whole new meaning. Quinn's eyes go wide as her attention turns to Rachel.

"Your fiancé is Jackson Mitchell? _The_ Jackson Mitchell?"

Rachel's face reddens instantly, taken aback by Quinn's question. Brittany is also fairly surprised.

"I can't believe you didn't know that," the blonde states, looking from Santana to Quinn.

"I can't believe your parents named you Jason and Jackson," Santana smirks at Jason.

"I don't get out much," Quinn answers Brittany, "I didn't even know Rachel _had_ a fiancé until recently."

"Yet... you know who he is," Rachel directs towards Quinn, her tone almost accusatory. The flush in her cheeks is obvious, but the reason behind it is hard to read.

"Rachel, _everyone_ knows who Jackson Mitchell is," Santana offers.

She's half way through the sentence when she feels Brittany's hand tense against her back, but she doesn't take the hint to stop talking. Looking questioningly at Brittany she finds the blonde shaking her head. Rachel has turned an even brighter shade of red. Santana can't help but chuckle.

"Aw, Rach," she laughs, "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"She's not embarrassed," Brittany whispers into Santana's ear, "she's angry. She hates it when she thinks Jackson is more famous than she is."

Santana raises an eyebrow as an awkward smile creeps across her face.

"At least she's famous for being talented. And not, well... the _opposite_."

Jackson Mitchell was one of the NFL's most high profile players, though not for the right reasons. His reputation for fumbling important passes in big games is overshadowed only by his reputation for being incredibly stupid. Despite being widely regarded as a fairly mediocre quarterback, he played for the New York Jets for a few years before injuring himself in the off season during a very short lived stint on _Dancing with the Stars_. The Internet is littered with highlight videos of Jackson's dim-witted interviews, awkward dance moves and dismal on-field performances; a combination of which eventually earned him the nickname _Lumbering Jack_.

"I can hear you, you know," Rachel growls, before adding some lightness to her voice for a little believability, "And, for your information, I am neither embarrassed nor angry. I'm just... surprised."

"That makes two of us."

Quinn's tone is anything but light. It's dark and cold. Abruptly, she turns and walks away, heading towards the kitchen. Somewhat affronted, Rachel recovers from her momentary shock and storms in dramatically after Quinn.

"Won't you come in," Santana sneers as she passes.

Jason has barely even moved a muscle when Santana retrains her glare on him.

"Don't even think about it."

* * *

"What the hell is your problem?"

After standing in the kitchen for a full minute while Quinn busied herself with unnecessary tidying, and showed no sign of acknowledging Rachel, the brunette had finally spoken up. Her words came out a little harsher than intended but she decides to own them, adopting her best challenging glare.

"Excuse me?" Quinn spins around to face Rachel wearing an eerily similar mask of incredulity.

"You're ignoring me."

"I was just talking to you a minute ago."

"And then you walked away in the middle of a conversation to... do what exactly?" she points to the stacks of Tupperware that Quinn has been constructing on the bench for no good reason.

"Oh," Quinn says nonchalantly, "I thought we were done. Didn't you come here to see Santana?"

There is a bitterness in Quinn's voice that doesn't go unnoticed by Rachel.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I mean, why would I come to see _you_?" the singer bites back, "When I said you were ignoring me I actually wasn't talking about today. You've made it pretty clear you don't have time for me at the moment."

Rachel's voice cracks and that's all it takes for Quinn's resolve to crumble. She didn't have a very good hold on it to begin with, not really sure why she was being so stubborn in the first place. She hadn't _meant_ to stop talking to Rachel, it just kind of happened in conjunction with Santana. She sighs deeply, a fond, slightly sad, smile finding its way out from beneath her scowl.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Rachel asks, her voice still weak.

"I'm sorry," Quinn offers, her second apology for the day lifting more of the weight from her burdened shoulders.

Rachel smiles at her tentatively, waiting to hear more. Quinn takes a few steps forward to relieve some of the awkwardness the space between them is causing.

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring your calls. The past couple of weeks have just been a little... strange. I was fighting with Santana and there was this thing with Mitch-" she catches herself and coughs abruptly, worried she has already said too much.

Rachel reads her hesitation as an attempt at diplomacy and waves her off with a laugh, "Please, Quinn, say whatever you want about him. I can guarantee you I've heard worse. _Thought_ worse, probably."

Quinn's smile is unsteady but she breathes a sigh of relief that Rachel probably reads the wrong way. The brunette gives her an encouraging smile.

"I'm sorry I never told you I was seeing someone," Quinn adds as Rachel's nose scrunches, "Even more so now."

Rachel breaks the remaining tension with a deep chuckle, "Because you know I could have warned you about him?"

Quinn nods, a pang of guilt rising in her chest.

"To be honest, though," she says, "I didn't listen to Santana, so I'm not sure why I would have listened to you."

"Well, clearly you would have realized that I am a much better judge of the situation. I've known Mitch for a long time," Rachel presumes before adding with a smirk, "Not to mention, I'm straight... which automatically makes me better at picking men."

Quinn scoffs. Not in a subtle, or humorous, way. Rachel raises an eyebrow.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" she challenges.

Quinn shakes her head, very unconvincingly.

"Come on, Quinn," Rachel persists, all the tension between them coming back in an instant, "There's something else going on here. I get that you've had a rough time recently but you walked away from me out there for another reason." She pauses for only a moment, "Jackson? You and I may not have seen each other for years, but some things don't change... I still know when you're judging me."

"You're absolutely right, clearly some things stay very much the same," Quinn shakes her head in an attempt to keep calm, "I'm trying so hard not to judge you Rachel but, this whole thing makes me feel like you really haven't changed, haven't _grown_, as much as I thought you had."

"Because I'm marrying Jackson?"

"Because you're marrying Finn Hudson!"

Rachel's jaw drops. So does her heart.

Quinn's words are heavy with accusation and disappointment. They hang in the air like a dark rain cloud about to burst.

"Who's Finn Hudson?"

Santana grimaces, having just walked in on a clearly tense situation, Jason following with his curiosity seconds behind her.

"My best friend, compared to you," she answers snidely, giving Rachel and Quinn a quick out.

"Wow," Rachel breathes, both grateful to Santana and well aware of the latina's feelings towards her ex. She turns to Jason, "If that's how she feels, I'm surprised she even let you in."

"I didn't," Santana glares at Brittany, who has just joined them in the kitchen after making sure Noah was sufficiently occupied with plenty of Disney and a promise of pancakes.

"You really expected me to ignore something called _The Santana Plan_?" the blonde giggles.

Santana rolls her eyes for everyone else's benefit but throws Brittany a furtive smile. While it would seem that Brittany is blissfully unaware of the conflict they just stumbled in on, Santana knows better. Brittany is keeping it light deliberately.

Pushing her altercation with Rachel to the back of her mind, Quinn lets the connection fully register and her heart sinks.

"Of course," she says almost to herself, "you're the guy from _The Santana Plan_."

As she looks at Jason, the others look at her curiously, way too much sadness in her tone to make much sense to any of them. She shakes herself out of the moment and gives them a small chuckle, "I'd almost forgotten about _The Santana Plan_."

"Well, feel free to _completely_ forget about it," Santana tells her before turning to Rachel and Jason to address them as one, "Listen up, DoucheBerry," she starts, articulating each word with precision and volume, "perhaps I was too subtle when I kicked your asses out of my office yesterday... so let me make it very clear for you now; this _Santana_ ain't going anywhere near your _plan_."

"Santana..."

Santana's name comes at her from four different directions, in four different voices, each one of them weighing in with their thoughts about the plan. As they all continue to talk over each other, she throws her arms up in the air.

"Ok," she shouts, "everyone who is _not me_ needs to be quiet!"

She takes a few deep breaths and considers each of the people in the room for a moment. Rachel is wearing her trademark look of incredulous displeasure at being told to do something (or not do something as the case may be) while Brittany just has her bottom lip poked out slightly, an almost hidden twinkle in her eyes. Jason grunts as he crosses his arms over his chest and Quinn rolls her eyes. At everyone, Santana thinks.

"You," Santana points at her best friend, "Come with me."

* * *

"Santana?" Quinn eyes the Latina curiously.

"I know what everyone else thinks, Quinn," Santana explains as she shuts her bedroom door behind them and turns to face the blonde now standing by her bed, "But, I need to know how you feel about it."

Quinn can't help but smile a little.

"Really?"

"Of course," Santana smiles back, "How many best friends do you think I have? You're my family, Quinn. I can't make a decision like this without you."

Quinn's heart clenches and she clears her throat to deflect the lump that threatens to lodge there.

"Plus," Santana adds, "I'm not sure where Jason Ass_Mitch_hole stands with you?"

"I'm not seeing him anymore," is all Quinn can manage in reply.

Santana frowns. Not because it's not a welcome confirmation, but because she always gets at least a little smirk from Quinn when she uses one of her nasty nicknames. Granted, this certainly wasn't one of her best, but when Quinn doesn't even make an effort to humor her, she knows something is wrong.

"What happened?"

"Like I said before," Quinn waves her off dismissively, "You turned out to be right. After you left he was kind of a jackass and Noah clearly didn't like him at all. So... I ended it."

"Wait," Santana holds up her hand, "That day _at the park_?"

"Yeah..."

"Quinn!"

"What?"

"You broke up with him _the day_ that we had the fight? I've been going out of my mind with anger and sadness and anger and stress and... and..."

"Anger?"

"Don't be cute. Two weeks, Fabray! Two fucking weeks we weren't talking. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Um.. because we weren't talking."

Santana's incredulous glare warns Quinn not to test her any further. The blonde raises her eyebrows with a small, apologetic grin that tells Santana she is ready to behave. Santana releases some of the tension in her shoulders and drops them with a heavy sigh. Though she's alluding to Jason being the reason they were fighting, they both know that's not the case. Jason may have been the catalyst, but lines were crossed and hurtful things were said.

"Well," Santana jokes awkwardly, "that news would have at least been a nice way for you to break the ice, you know, before explaining to me what I did to make you so angry that you stopped talking to me for so long."

There is a question somewhere underneath Santana's sudden vulnerability and Quinn shakes her head sadly.

"Santana, I wasn't not talking to you because I was angry at you," she explains, "I was angry at _me_. Breaking up with Mitch just made that worse, not better."

Santana's forehead creases in several places as confusion takes over her whole face, "I don't understand."

"I was embarrassed, Santana. I was embarrassed that I didn't recognize what Mitch was really like and I felt ashamed that I didn't listen to you. That I didn't trust you when you tried to warn me against him. If I had just listened to you..."

The rest of her sentence fades into the silent space between them, Quinn's eyes growing distant as she disappears somewhere for a moment only to be yanked back abruptly by Santana's persistent concern.

"What, Quinn? If you had just listened to me then what?"

"Nothing," Quinn shakes her head as a sincere apology shows itself in the form of a tentative smile, "We wouldn't have had to go two weeks away from each other, that's all. Noah has missed you like crazy. And so have I. I just couldn't figure out how to forgive myself, so I did know how to ask you to do it. If it hadn't been for Brittany, god knows how long we would have been not speaking to each other... you being so stubborn and all."

Quinn finishes with a wink and watches the recognition flash in Santana's eyes.

"My Brittany?"

"No, Santana, Britney _Spears_. You know _Oops I Did It Again _really speaks to me," Quinn's voice is so heavy with sarcasm it makes Santana grimace, "Of course, _your _Brittany."

Santana smiles.

"She marched up here and told me to stop being an idiot, that you loved me and that nothing was worth the risk of losing that."

Santana can't place the feeling that wells up inside her. Pride, maybe? Quinn's face twitches into a subtle grin.

"And, also that even though you two were having lots of amazing sex she couldn't stand knowing how miserable you were without me."

Santana's jaw practically hits the ground, "She said that?"

"She didn't have to," Quinn stamps her foot on the floor, making a loud banging sound that Santana realizes would have carried straight downstairs into the office.

Santana blushes, "And the part about me being miserable without you?"

"Am I wrong?" Quinn smirks.

"No."

"Listen," Quinn says, closing the gap between them and taking Santana's hands in her own, "We've both been right about some things, we've both been wrong about some things. I am so, so sorry for being mostly to blame for the last couple of weeks and I can't even begin to make up for the things I said. I wish I could take them all back because I didn't mean any of them. I know it might take some time for us to get over this properly, but as far as I'm concerned, nothing has changed. You're my sister, Santana, and I don't ever want to lose you."

"Never going to happen, Fabray."

Santana pulls Quinn into a bear hug and they hold onto each other in contented silence for a few moments.

"Good," Quinn nods, pulling away from Santana and quickly swiping her hand across a stray tear that had found it's way onto her cheek, "Now, The Santana Plan..."

Santana rolls her eyes with a sigh, but it's all a little half-hearted. If she's being honest, Brittany had already worn down her resolve and her confrontation with Rachel and Jason earlier was mostly just for show. The only real thing stopping her now was not knowing how Quinn felt about it all. The blonde in question sees a flash of excitement in Santana's eyes that would be hard to spot for someone who didn't know the woman well. Quinn sees it plain as day. Santana really wants this.

"Okay, tell me honestly," Santana entreats, "despite his uber-doucheness, you really think I should take him on as my manager? I mean, would you be okay if he was in our lives a bit? I'm not so thrilled about it myself, but I don't even know how you two left things... "

Quinn remembers exactly how they left things.

_"And fuck you," Santana hissed at Quinn, pointing an angry finger in her face._

_The blonde felt tears beginning to sting her eyes as her best friend launched into an acerbic tirade, the accuracy of which hit her hard. She stood frozen with guilt as Santana spat out her last words and turned for the second time to storm away. When Quinn realized that the latina was not going to come back again she was shaken from her stupor and took one tentative step after her, but was stopped almost immediately._

_"Just let her go."_

_Quinn looked up through her tear filled eyes, slightly surprised to see Mitch right next to her. It wasn't so much his voice that stopped her, though it seemed more commanding than usual, but the strong grip he had on her wrist. Pulling her hand upwards to free herself, she felt his fingers tighten even further and he took another step closer so that he was now towering over her. Her brow knotted together, taken aback by the firmness of his hand and his obvious gesture of intimidation._

_"I said," he pressed, aggressively, "let her go."_

Shaking herself out of the memory, and keeping it to herself, she smiles warmly at Santana.

"Is he going to make you a star?"

"According to Rachel and Brittany," Santana smiles back, her eyes brightening even more, "Yes."

"Then I won't let you_ not_ do it."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to those of you who continue to review, I appreciate it more than you know. Special welcome to Balexi (although she's not quite here, yet) for her chapter by chapter love :)**

**And all my undying gratitude, as usual, to WorldOfTilt... but especially this chapter for the unnecessary heart attack I gave her with the original ending. Sorry ;)**


	23. Chapter 23

"There's one more thing," Quinn says, her face becoming suddenly quite serious. She waits for Santana's smile to fade completely before continuing, "It's about Brittany."

In an instant, Santana can feel her heartbeat in her ears.

"Oh my god, what? What's wrong? Is she okay? Are _we_ okay? Is she going to break up with me!?"

With each word, Santana's voice gets more and more hysterical. Her breaths start to come out in infrequent gasps as her eyes dart around the room, her left hand clutched desperately to her chest.

"Jesus, Santana," Quinn places her hand on the girl's shoulder and guides her towards the bed with a slight chuckle, "are you actually having a panic attack?"

As she sits, Santana stops breathing altogether for a brief moment, the fear in her eyes flickering with her impending rage at Quinn's mocking tone.

"Ok, sorry, sorry," Quinn hastens to explain as she sits down next to Santana, "I was just messing with you, S. Everything is fine."

Quinn draws out the last word to give Santana plenty of time to let it sink in. She laughs at her best friend again, the woman's breath still ragged and her eyes still carrying a hint of worry and confusion.

"Brittany is _fine_," Quinn reiterates, "I was actually just going to tell you that I think she's awesome."

Santana only has a moment to feel relief before it is quickly replaced with the special kind of annoyance she keeps reserved for Quinn. The expression that goes with it sits somewhere in the vast expanse between vehement anger and fond familiarity.

"You're an asshole."

"Not exactly the reaction I was expecting," Quinn says cocking her head to side with a slight frown.

"Yes, it was."

"Yes," Quinn chuckles, "it was."

They sit in silence for a few moments as Santana continues to calm her breathing. Quinn nudges her every now and then, a satisfied smirk on her face.

"I mean it, though," the blonde says eventually, "She's awesome."

"Yeah," Santana finally smiles, rather goofily, and gives Quinn an enthusiastic nod of agreement.

"But, like," Quinn continues, emphatically, "really fucking awesome."

The blonde is practically gushing at this point and anyone who didn't know better could be forgiven for thinking this conversation was about _her _new girlfriend, not Santana's.

Santana's smile falters as her eyes narrow, slightly, "Alright, settle down."

She hears the tiny hint of suspicion in her own voice and cringes at the thought that she might actually sound jealous.

"Wow," Quinn laughs, "Maybe _you_ should settle down. Don't want you having another _episode_."

"Shut up," Santana mumbles, defensively, "I just got a little anxious, that's all."

"That's all? Santana, you practically hyperventilated yourself into a coma."

There is still a lot of humour in Quinn's tone; she is enjoying this way too much.

"Okay, whatever," Santana huffs, lifting herself off the bed and stomping towards the door. She doesn't have to deal with this shit.

"S, wait," Quinn implores, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice.

Santana spins around to face her, one eyebrow arched so high it's almost comical. Quinn shakes her head to stifle another laugh.

"Ok," she offers, gently, "if we both make an effort to stay calm, can we try this again? I really do want to talk to you about Brittany."

They both know Santana won't say no to that. After a bumpy start, it had become clear that Santana was going to be _that_ girl; the girl who would jump on any opportunity she could to talk about her girlfriend. Having not been speaking to Quinn for almost two weeks now, she is feeling about ready to burst. It's not like anything particularly _eventful_ has happened in that time, yet somehow it feels like everything has changed. In the way that you need to talk to your best friend about.

Quinn didn't need those two weeks of discussion to know that, though. She saw it as soon as she opened the door to Santana this morning. She had been expecting it, in fact.

"Don't fuck it up," Quinn warns Santana sternly the instant she sits back down.

Completely taken aback, all Santana can do is stare.

"Brittany is the best thing that has ever happened to you," Quinn continues, "I don't need to tell you that. And I also don't need to tell you all the millions of reasons why. The fact that she's kind and compassionate and warm - essentially, all the things you are not - makes it clear that she is, without doubt, your true better half. So, don't fuck it up. She's amazing, Santana, and I don't want you to lose her. Hell, _I _don't want to lose her. To be honest, I think I might be a little bit in love with her, too."

Quinn laughs, nudging her friend playfully for that last comment. It takes her a moment to notice that Santana is practically frozen in place. And has gone very, very pale.

"Shit, Santana... you know I don't _really_ think you're not kind and compassionate, right? I was totally joking," Quinn clarifies softly, suddenly wondering if she should have been walking on eggshells a little more, the best friends only having just made up.

"I'm not..." Santana mumbles.

"You are, sweetie," Quinn assures her, "You're very compassionate. And warm. Look at how you are with Noah."

"No, I mean... I'm not..." Santana continues shaking her head, her voice so low Quinn can barely hear her, "I'm not... in love."

It's so close to being a question that Quinn laughs. And she doesn't hesitate to answer it.

"Oh, honey. Yes. You are. You're completely whipped."

Knowing she doesn't have a leg to stand on in that sense, Santana nods her concession before adding, "But, that doesn't mean I'm _in love _with her."

"In your case, Santana, it really does."

Santana knows what Quinn's getting at. Her trademark "independant spirit", as one former employer had generously referred to it, doesn't exist in the presence of her girlfriend. And deep down, she knows Quinn is right about what that means. Like, one hundred percent, completely and utterly, no doubt about it, bang on the money. _Damnit_.

"Isn't it... too soon?"

She shakes her head as the words come out, fully aware that she's just kidding herself now. She's not completely sure why she's trying to talk herself out of it at this point but something just won't let her accept it. The first time it had occurred to her it took her so by surprise that she was able to just shake it off. But, since then, the words have been on the tip of her tongue so often that she's had to hold back parts of normal conversation for fear of saying _I love you_ instead of _Can you please pass me the coffee_.

"You've know her six years," Quinn points out, playfully.

Santana smiles, nudging back this time when Quinn takes a dig at her with her elbow.

"Do you think that's when I... I mean, do you think it happened _back then_?" Santana ventures.

"I don't know, babe," Quinn shakes her head with a warm smile, "But, it clearly happened."

It happened. She fell. There was a big part of her, as much as she hates to admit it, that never thought she would. That wall she built was high. But...

Brittany is tall.

Santana blushes, "Am I that obvious?"

"Yes," Quinn doesn't hesitate, "But, I actually saw it in Brittany first. When she came up here to convince me to talk to you, she knew the exact right thing to threaten me with. She told me that you loved me and that I was stupid to risk losing that. I'm telling you, that girl _knows _what being loved by you feels like."

Santana is overwhelmed by the concept. Not only is she in love with Brittany, but Brittany can feel it. For some reason it doesn't make her feel any less panicked about the possibility that she might accidentally let it slip. Her lungs begin to constrict.

It must show in her face, because Quinn's hand is on her knee in an instant.

"Easy there," the blonde whispers, sensing the oncoming freak out, "Nothing about this is bad."

Santana's eyes lock onto Quinn's, desperate for reassurance, "What if..."

"No," Quinn cuts her off, "Don't do that. Don't question your feelings. Or hers. Just go with it... and do what feels right. You deserve this, Santana."

Santana feels those last words in her chest. In her throat. Her defensive side shouts a weak _I know that_ at Quinn somewhere deep inside but it's buried beneath so many layers of gratitude that she can barely hear it. Quinn doesn't need to say anything else. They don't need to talk about Santana's apparent aversion to commitment or her fear of making deep connections with other people. They don't need to rehash how those thing are probably, in large part, the effects of losing Puck, of being disowned by her mother, of witnessing the heartbreak Quinn went through at the same time. There doesn't need to be a discussion about why it's going to be so hard for Santana to let herself say those three little words to Brittany, even though she desperately wants to. Even though they are right there. Constantly on the tip of her tongue. And they don't need to talk about how vulnerable it all makes Santana feel. How at any moment she might fall to the ground and curl up into a ball in an attempt to protect herself from everything she would be opening herself up to if she were to completely let Brittany in. Because what if Brittany doesn't love her back? What if Santana gave her entire being, her whole heart and soul, to Brittany and then Brittany just walked away?

They don't need to talk about any of that because Quinn already knows. They both know. If Santana gave her heart and soul to Brittany and Brittany left, she would take them with her. Santana would lose everything. She thinks for a moment that she's okay with that. She would let Brittany take everything. It's the idea that she would lose _Brittany_ that hurts beyond her own comprehension. She blinks hard and a tear rolls down her cheek.

"Hey, don't," Quinn whispers, her hand still resting comfortingly on Santana's knee, "She's not going anywhere. Everything is going to be okay."

* * *

"Stop poking me like that," Jason whines, "I heard you."

"I mean it, Jason," Brittany says sternly, poking him again, "One wrong move and I will fucking castrate you."

It surprises Santana a great deal, upon entering the room and catching Brittany's threat, that she would have one of her _almost accidentally said I love you _moments in response, considering the subject matter. But, she can tell from the blush in Brittany's cheeks, as she looks up and sees Santana, that the blonde was talking about her. That she was telling Jason that if he made one wrong move, with _her_, that she would castrate him. Her heart swells.

She heads straight for the blonde and wraps her arms around the still embarrassed girl's waist. Brittany immediately buries her face in Santana's neck.

"Don't hide, baby," Santana coos into Brittany's ear with a giggle, "you being all protective and tough was actually really hot."

She's not prepared for Brittany to bite her. Nor is anyone in the room prepared for the noise she makes in response.

Santana clears her throat and avoids all the wide sets of eyes that are suddenly on her as Brittany giggles and quickly places a kiss over her bite mark before stepping away.

"Santana..." Rachel starts, her expression slightly flustered but her tone all business.

"I'm in, Berry," Santana stops her before she can continue, "Don't embarrass us all by begging."

She ignores Rachel's gaping mouth and walks across the kitchen, reaching for a dusty box that sits on a high up shelf.

"Wait, what?" Rachel blurts out, "Just like that?"

Unlike Rachel, if Brittany is surprised by the turn of events, she certainly doesn't show it. She just smiles, as is her way, and leans over to give Quinn a high five.

"No," Santana answers, pulling a bottle of champagne out of the box and placing it in the fridge, "Not just like that. I have conditions."

Her answer is directed towards Jason, not Rachel.

"So do I," he responds curtly.

"Thought you might."

* * *

"Sorry to ruin your plans," Quinn tells Brittany, who is only half paying attention.

She has only half been paying attention for the better part of an hour, sitting as close to the end of Quinn and Santana's kitchen bench as she can, allowing her to stare wistfully in the direction of her girlfriend. The brunette in question is sitting in the lounge room, fidgeting tensely with a handful of papers. She is deep in conversation with Jason and Rachel, the crease in her brow having been a permanent fixture since they sat down. Brittany lets her mind wander through all the ways that she might be able to rid Santana of her frown, making a mental note to ask her to leave the glasses on. It's the first time she's seen her wearing them and _holy crap_. Somewhere in the back of her mind it registers that Quinn has just spoken to her.

"Huh? Oh, no, that's okay," Brittany smiles, coming out of her Santana-daze, "This was the plan all along."

"Even the part where _I'm_ the one making the pancakes," Quinn teases, nodding towards the bowl of batter she is currently stirring. It doesn't surprise her that Brittany had planned for Quinn and Santana to talk this morning, but she knows the girl wouldn't have been expecting Santana to be too busy with contracts to cook them breakfast.

Brittany pouts but quickly throws in a wink, "I like your pancakes, Quinn."

"Me too!" Noah squeals from her perch next to Brittany on the bench.

"You're_ kidding_?" Quinn gasps before flicking some flour at her giddy daughter.

Brittany smiles but there is a slight uneasiness in her eyes. Quinn's own smile falters.

"It's a good idea, right?" she asks.

Her voice is quiet, as though she's asking herself, but Brittany still catches it. Likely because the same question has been running through her own mind ever since Santana's earlier announcement.

"It is."

Everything in Brittany's voice matches Quinn's; the low volume, the uncertainty, the guilt. Are they knowingly walking (pushing?) Santana straight into her own personal idea of Hell? She sighs. Well, if they are... Brittany, Quinn and Rachel are going, too. Brittany throws Quinn a warm smile before turning back to face the lounge room. It's not meant to be reassuring, just... understanding. They're all in this together. For the same reason.

_Santana_.

"It'll be worth it," Brittany tells them both as she watches Santana rise off the couch. The latina rolls her eyes at Jason's outstretched hand and turns to face the kitchen, walking towards Brittany with a tired smile.

"Is that champagne cold, yet?"

"Are we celebrating or do you just need a drink?" Quinn asks, no stranger to the tone of frustration in Santana's voice.

"Both," Santana answers, reaching Brittany and automatically wrapping her arms around the blonde.

As Santana nuzzles into her neck, Brittany whispers, "I missed you," into her ear. Santana can hear the smile in the blonde's voice and it drains some of the tension from her body. She raises her head to press her lips against Brittany's cheek. A thank you.

"Well, the pancakes aren't ready, yet."

Santana turns to frown at Quinn, "So?"

"Having a 'champagne breakfast' without the breakfast is just morning drinking, Santana," Quinn laughs, "It feels more responsible with food."

Pushing herself reluctantly away from Brittany with a dramatic scoff, Santana moves towards Quinn in an effort to subtly survey the contents of her mixing bowl.

"Don't pretend you didn't relinquish all claims on _responsible_ about 6 years ago," she whispers with a smirk, throwing a quick glance back at Noah.

Quinn jerks the bowl away from Santana and pokes out her tongue.

"I saw lumps," Santana teases.

Turning to find Noah and Brittany wearing almost the exact same expression of distaste, Santana is about to make a smug comment about her superior pancakes when she realizes they are reacting to something else entirely. Jason has entered the room. He sits at the island bench, placing his laptop and paperwork back in his briefcase with a self-satisfied grin on his face. With a deep sigh Santana realizes that she has _literally_ just signed up for this to become a common occurrence. She put pen to paper and said _yes, Jason Mitchell is now a huge part of my life_. Fuck the pancakes, Santana needs alcohol.

"Champagne," she announces as though she's clearing her throat.

Brittany hears the _NOW_ in Santana's tone and jumps down off the bench, putting a little extra sway in her hips as she walks towards the fridge. Because if Santana is drinking out of need, it means she still has to find a way to celebrate. And if Brittany has her way, she won't have to look very far.

* * *

"Tell me where you want it..."

"Right... here..."

"Like this?"

"Maybe a little higher... just above my..."

"Here?"

"Yeah..." Brittany's breath catches in her throat in anticipation.

She shifts her weight back and forth from one foot to the other, knocking her hip into Santana's shoulder accidentally.

"Don't bump me while I'm doing this, Britt," Santana giggles, "It's an artform. I need to be precise."

Brittany snorts out her chuckle, "Sorry! I'll keep still. Just hurry up."

Her eyes close of their own accord, an excited hum escaping her lips as she waits. After a moment she hears Santana grunt. Not in a good way; she's frustrated. Brittany opens her eyes to look down at her girlfriend.

"What's wrong?"

"It's not working," Santana grumbles, shaking her wrist vigorously.

"Maybe you need to press a bit harder."

"Nope, it's no good," Santana huffs as she stands up.

Poking her head in from the lounge room, Quinn yelps as she manages to duck just in time to avoid being hit by the flying pen that Santana has just hurled across the kitchen in frustration.

"What are you guys doing?"

"I'm getting Santana to leave her mark on my boob," Brittany declares.

"I'm sorry?" Quinn questions, her forehead creasing in confusion as she surveys the fully clothed blonde.

"Not her actual boob," Santana explains, fossicking around in a drawer full of stationery with one hand while waving a photo of her and Brittany in the other, "I'm trying to sign this, but I can't find a goddamn pen that works."

"I see," Quinn chuckles, "Well, in that case, I think I can help. Wait right here."

Quinn disappears down the hall as Brittany beams at Santana. She is still hopping excitedly from foot to foot.

"Why so bouncy?" Santana entreats with a broad smile.

"I'm just super excited to get the very first ever Santana Lopez autograph!" Brittany answers, her voice barely below a shout. She wobbles a little, grabbing onto to Santana's arm to steady herself.

"And also you're a little drunk?" Santana laughs.

"I am not!" Brittany squeals in protest, but her head nods with a scrunch of her nose and Santana laughs again, pulling Brittany in for a playful kiss.

After toasting to Santana, and her inevitable rise to stardom, Brittany, Santana, Quinn, Rachel and Jason had polished off the bottle of champagne fairly quickly. They had sent Noah over to Leanne's and were halfway through another bottle of wine when Brittany had leant over and whispered conspiratorially into Santana's ear that she should follow her into the kitchen. Once in there, Brittany had pulled a photo of the two of them out of her wallet and asked Santana for her autograph.

"It's not the wine, you know," Brittany purrs into Santana's ear after breaking their kiss.

"Hmm?" Santana hums questioningly against Brittany's cheek, pecking gently at the warm, soft skin.

"I'm not drunk from the drinking," Brittany continues in earnest, "I'm just excited. About you. _You_ make me dizzy, Santana."

Santana straightens instantly to meet Brittany's gaze. She marvels, as always, at how such an intense shade of blue can come across so warm. Brittany isn't being flirtatious. She's not being cheeky or teasing Santana in any way. She means exactly what she says, even though she appears to be completely steady on her feet now. The expression that she wears only hints that she has more to say, her smile telling Santana that everything about this moment, them here together right now, is just as it should be. Santana is sure she has no way to articulate, even for herself, how that makes her feel.

"Brittany..."

The blonde's eyebrow lifts almost imperceptibly, her arms tightening around Santana just a little bit. Santana wants to say a thousand things that would all sound like _I love you_.

"I..." she starts, Brittany's gentle eyes watching her patiently, "I'm dizzy, too."

It's all she can manage right now. Brittany leans towards her and smiles into another kiss. Just as it occurs to Santana that she's in a position to make both of them even dizzier, she hears Quinn clear her throat and pulls away, Brittany giggling into her lips.

"You had a Sharpie in your room!" the dancer squeaks in delight, reaching over to take the pen from Quinn's outstretched hand.

"No," Quinn smirks, "this was in Santana's room. I'm surprised she hasn't had it framed, actually."

Brittany looks utterly confused. Santana looks at the floor.

"Why would someone frame a Sharpie?" the blonde wonders, glancing back and forth between a grinning Quinn and a blushing Santana.

"Because _you_ left it here, Brittany," Quinn explains, "That's the pen you used to write your number on Santana's arm."

Santana is beyond embarrassed. She had discovered the pen on the side table near the front door days later and promptly claimed it for herself, placing it on the top shelf in her room. She had no idea that Quinn knew about it.

"Santana," Brittany tilts her head down to peer curiously at her girlfriend, "you kept my Sharpie?"

Santana can hear the giggle trying to come out in Brittany's voice and she's absolutely mortified. Quinn is chuckling beside them so she relieves some of her embarrassment by kicking her in the shin.

"Ouch! Asshole."

Brittany finally giggles, "Did that make you feel better?"

"A little," Santana replies, her deep blush making it less than convincing.

She grabs the pen from Brittany's hand and takes a few steps back towards the table, as though returning to her task of signing the photo. Instead, she turns swiftly on her heel and throws the pen at Quinn with all the velocity she can muster. This time, Quinn has no chance to duck. It hits her squarely in the head and bounces off, ricocheting halfway across the room.

"_Now_ I feel better."

"Ow! Jesus, Santana, are you crazy?"

"Are _you_?" Santana hisses, continuing in a whisper as Brittany skips over to retrieve the marker, "I can't believe you told Brittany about the Sharpie!"

"Santana, come on. She asked for your autograph, right?" Quinn assumes, matching Santana's whisper and taking it as confirmation when Santana makes no denial, "And not to be ironic or cute? I mean, you _know_ she_ literally _wants your autograph. Do you really think she's going to judge you for keeping the pen?"

Before Santana can respond, the girl in question appears beside them with a giant grin on her face, pen in hand. She runs her eyes over Quinn's forehead quickly and Quinn realizes she's checking for an injury.

"I'm fine, Brittany," Quinn laughs, "But, you might want to check this one's ego for bruises."

She slaps Santana on the ass before turning to leave the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder before she disappears, "Just hurry up with your signing and your making out and whatever, we have more celebrating to do."

Santana watches her go and wonders how much of that actually meant _you need to save me from being alone in a room with Jason and Rachel._ Despite the alcohol and the fun, celebratory vibes, there has been a weird tension between the three of them for most of the day. When she turns back to face Brittany, the blonde is watching her intently, a smile in her eyes.

"What?"

Brittany holds the pen up between them.

"Oh yeah," Santana remembers, the red returning to her cheeks in an instant.

"I can't believe you kept this," Brittany whispers.

"I know," Santana shakes her head in shame, "it's silly."

"No!" Brittany rushes to clarify, "I _love_ that you did."

"Well, I love y-"

_Oh God._

The sentence hangs unfinished in the air for what feels like hours to Santana. When logic tells her it's only been seconds she scrambles to cover the gap.

"I love... that you keep a photo of us in your wallet," she blurts out, "But, it's a bit small now that I'm signing with a thick marker..."

The smirk that appears on Brittany's face makes Santana think that her diversion has worked. But then the smirk disappears as quickly as it appeared and Brittany's expression becomes quite serious.

"I don't want you to sign that anymore," the blonde admits.

"Oh," Santana fails at keeping the disappointment out of her voice.

And then, the smirk is back... as Brittany begins to unbutton her shirt. She pulls the material aside, exposing the skin just above her left breast, and taps at it with the pen, "Plenty of room _here_."

She is pointing to the very spot that she had asked Santana to sign on the photo. Without waiting for a response from Santana, who doesn't look like she'd be able to form a sentence anyway, Brittany lifts the pen to her mouth and locks eyes with Santana, removing the cap with her teeth in a delicious moment of déjà vu. She hands the marker to a still speechless Santana and closes her lips around the cap, holding it there while she waits.

Santana is frozen for another few seconds, wondering how it's possible that Brittany can make one simple gesture both completely adorable and unbearably sexy. She also wonders what she did to get so lucky. The woman in front of her is nothing short of perfection. Her heart hammers against her chest, breaking her out of her daze. She manages to smile, though she imagines it comes across as tentative. To compensate, she tenderly snakes her arm around Brittany's back and pulls her forward, causing the blonde to emit a small gasp, the pen cap falling to the floor.

"Hold still," Santana whispers, though neither of them are moving at all.

They are pressed up against each other so tightly now that Santana barely even has room to move the arm that sits sandwiched between their chests. Pen at the ready, she takes a deep breath and lowers her hand just an inch, bringing it to rest in Brittany's cleavage. Her breath catches when she feels Brittany's rapid heartbeat against the edge of her palm, replicating the way her own heart continues to pound. She doesn't dare look up at Brittany, fearing that her chest might actually explode, but catches a glimpse of the blonde biting her lip out of the corner of her eye. Santana can't help the wicked grin that tugs at the corners of her mouth as she lowers the felt tip slowly. She has barely even made contact when tiny bumps erupt across Brittany's skin, the blonde letting out a soft giggle.

"That really tickles," she whispers.

Santana stills the pen, having only made a very small black dot so far, and lifts her head to capture Brittany's lips with her own. The surprise kiss elicits a groan of appreciation from Brittany, the blonde pressing her lips harder against Santana in an instant. By the time they break apart, breathless and not even close to sated, Brittany has a dime-sized squiggle on her chest. Santana laughs but Brittany pouts looking very sorry for ruining Santana's autograph. Santana shakes her head with a smile and leans up to quickly kiss Brittany once more before turning her attention back to the task at hand. She curves the pen in two deliberate strokes around the squiggle, artfully transforming it from a formless blotch into an almost symmetrical heart.

Again, Santana finds she can't look at Brittany. She can feel the blonde's eyes boring into her and just imagining what she'd see in them if she were to look up is causing her heart to ache. Not in a bad way. Just in a way that makes her knees weak, her vision blurry, her mind foggy. And right now, she needs to focus. She is signing her first ever autograph. For her beautiful girlfriend.

On her boob.

She laughs, "This feels kind of sleazy."

"Stop it," Brittany pouts, "It's beautiful."

"You think?" Santana smiles, taking her time to attempt some legibility before finally looking up at Brittany as she jabs the pen firmly into her skin, leaving an unnecessary period after the 'z'. Which looks more like a worm than a letter.

"Ouch," Brittany giggles, tilting her head forward and down as much as she can to get a good look now that Santana is out of the way, "Wow,"she breathes, "I can't believe Santonnmn Lopemnnn signed my chest!"

Santana gapes at her.

"Hey," she grumbles, squinting as she leans back down to scrutinize her handiwork, "That clearly says Sant-_ana_... Lopemnnn."

Brittany giggles, grabbing onto either side of Santana's face and kissing her fiercely, "Whatever it says, it's perfect. I love it, Santana."

_Well, I love you. _

Can she?

"Well..."

She stops. Brittany waits.

No. She can't.

"Where'd the cap go?"

Brittany smiles, nodding her head so subtly that it doesn't even register with Santana, and bends down to pick up the little piece of plastic laying by her feet. Straightening back up she beckons for Santana to hand over the pen and reunites the two items with a snap. She places the pen in her back pocket and gives Santana a quick kiss before taking a few backwards steps towards the lounge room.

"Come on," she grins, "I need to ask Rachel where she got her Barbra Streisand autograph tattooed over."

Santana watches as Brittany turns and skips out of the kitchen.

"Wait... what?!"


End file.
